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THE BORDER LEGION 





















(See page 361 

JOAN FOUND THAT THE WILD BORDER LAY BEHIND HER 






THE 

BORDER LEGION 


BY 

ZANE GREY 


AUTHOR OF 

WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND 
TO THE LAST MAN 
THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER, ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

LILLIAN E. WILHELM 


NEW YORK 

GROSSET & DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Made in the United States of America 


e. 1 °l I a 










The Border Legion 


Copyright, 1916, by Harper & Brothers 
Printed in the United States of America 


HrA 



THE BORDER LEGION 







THE BORDER LEGION 


CHAPTER I 

J OAN RANDLE reined in her horse on the 
crest of the cedar ridge, and with remorse and 
dread beginning to knock at her heart she gazed 
before her at the wild and looming mountain range. 

4 ‘Jim wasn’t fooling me,” she said. “He meant 
it. He’s going straight for the border. . . . Oh, why 
did I taunt him!” 

It was indeed a wild place, that southern border 
of Idaho, and that year was to see the ushering in 
of the wildest time probably ever known in the 
West. The rush for gold had peopled California 
with a horde of lawless men of every kind and class. 
And the vigilantes and then the rich strikes in 
Idaho had caused a reflux of that dark tide of hu¬ 
manity. Strange tales of blood and gold drifted 
into the camps, and prospectors and hunters met 
with many unknown men. 

Joan had quarreled with Jim Cleve, and she was 
bitterly regretting it. Joan was twenty years old, 
tall, strong, dark. She had been bom in Missouri, 
where her father had been well-to-do and prominent, 
until, like many another man of his day, he had 
x 


THE BORDER LEGION 


impeded the passage of a bullet. Then Joan had 
become the protegee of an uncle who had responded 
to the call of gold; and the latter part of her life had 
been spent in the wilds. 

She had followed Jim’s trail for miles out toward 
the range. And now she dismounted to see if his 
tracks were as fresh as she had believed. He had 
left the little village camp about sunrise. Some one 
had seen him riding away and had told Joan. Then 
he had tarried on the way, for it was now midday. 
Joan pondered. She had become used to his idle 
threats and disgusted with his vacillations. That 
had been the trouble—Jim was amiable, lovable, but 
since meeting Joan he had not exhibited any strength 
of character. Joan stood beside her horse and looked 
away toward the dark mountains. She was daring, 
resourceful, used to horses and trails and taking" 
care of herself; and she did not need any one to 
tell her that she had gone far enough. It had been 
her hope to come up with Jim. Always he had been 
repentant. But this time was different. She re¬ 
called his lean, pale face—so pale that freckles she 
did not know he had showed through—and his eyes, 
usually so soft and mild, had glinted like steel. 
Yes, it had been a bitter, reckless face. What had 
she said to him? She tried to recall it. 

The night before at twilight Joan had waited for 
him. She had given him precedence over the few 
other young men of the village, a fact she resent¬ 
fully believed he did not appreciate. Jim was un¬ 
satisfactory in every way except in the way he 
cared for her. And that also—for he cared too much. 

When Joan thought how Jim loved her, all the 
2 


THE BORDER LEGION 


details of that night became vivid. She sat alone 
under the spruce-trees near the cabin. The shad¬ 
ows thickened, and then lightened under a rising 
moon. She heard the low hum of insects, a distant 
laugh of some woman of the village, and the murmur 
of the brook. Jim was later than usual. Very 
likely, as her uncle had hinted, Jim had tarried at 
the saloon that had lately disrupted the peace of the 
village. The village was growing, and Joan did not 
like the change. There were too many strangers, 
rough, loud-voiced, drinking men. Once it had been 
a pleasure to go to the village store; now it was an 
ordeal. Somehow Jim had seemed to be unfavorably 
influenced by these new conditions. Still, he had 
never amounted to much. Her resentment, or some 
feeling she had,.was reaching a climax. She got up 
from her seat. She would not wait any longer for 
him, and when she did see him it would be to tell 
him a few blunt facts. * 

Just then there was a slight rustle behind her. 
Before she could turn some one seized her in powerful 
arms. She was bent backward in a bearish embrace, 
so that she could neither struggle nor cry out. A 
dark face loomed over hers—came closer. Swift 
kisses closed her eyes, burned her cheeks, and ended 
passionately on her lips. They had some strange 
power over her. Then she was released. 

Joan staggered back, frightened, outraged. She 
was so dazed she did not recognize the man, if indeed 
she knew him. But a laugh betrayed him. It was 
Jim. 

“You thought I had no nerve / 9 he said, “What 
do you think of that ?’ 9 


3 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Suddenly Joan was blindly furious. She could 
have killed him. She had never given him any 
right, never made him any promise, never let him 
believe she cared. And he had dared—! The hot 
blood boiled in her cheeks. She was furious with 
him, but intolerably so with herself, because some¬ 
how those kisses she had resented gave her unknown 
pain and shame. They had sent a shock through all 
her being. She thought she hated him. 

“You—you—” she broke out. “Jim Cleve, that 
ends you with me!” 

“Reckon I never had a beginning with you,” he 
replied, bitterly. “It was worth a good deal . . c 
I’m not sorry. . . . By Heaven—I’ve—kissed you!” 

He breathed heavily. She could see how pale 
he had grown in the shadowy moonlight. She sensed 
a difference in him—a cool, reckless defiance. 

‘‘ You’ll be sorry,’’ she said. “I’ll have nothing to 
do with you any more.” 

“All right. But I’m not, and I won’t be sorry.” 

She wondered whether he had fallen under the 
influence of drink. Jim had never cared for liquor, 
which virtue was about the only one he possessed. 
Remembering his kisses, she knew he had not been 
drinking. There was a strangeness about him, 
though, that she could not fathom. Had he guessed 
his kisses would have that power? If he dared 
again—! She trembled, and it was not only rage. 
But she would teach him a lesson. 

“Joan, I kissed you because I can’t be a hang¬ 
dog any longer,” he said. “I love you and I’m no 
good without you. You must care a little for me. 
Let’s marry. . « . I’ll—” 


4 


THE BORDER LEGION 


* 6 Never !” she replied, like flint. “ You’re no good 
at all.” 

‘‘But I am,” he protested, with passion. “I used 
to do things. But since—since I’ve met you I’ve 
lost my nerve. I’m crazy for you. You let the 
other men run after you. Some of them aren’t fit 
to—to— Oh, I’m sick all the time! Now it’s long* 
ing and then it’s jealousy. Give me a chance, Joan.” 

“Why?” she queried, coldly. “Why should I? 
You’re shiftless. You won’t work. When you do 
find a little gold you squander it. You have nothing 
but a gun. You can’t do anything but shoot.” 

“Maybe that ’ll come in handy,” he said, lightly. 

“Jim Cleve, you haven’t it in you even to be bad 
she went on, stingingly. 

At that he made a violent gesture. Then he 
loomed over her. “Joan Randle, do you mean 
that?” he asked. 

“I surely do,” she responded. At last she had 
struck fire from him. The fact was interesting. It 
lessened her anger. 

“Then I’m so low, so worthless, so spineless that 
I can’t even be bad?” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“That’s what you think of me—after I’ve ruined 
myself for love of you?” 

She laughed tauntingly. How strange and hot a 
glee she felt in hurting him! 

“By God, I’ll show you!” he cried, hoarsely. 

“What will you do, Jim?” she asked, mockingly. 

“I’ll shake this camp. I’ll rustle for the border. 
I'll get in with Kells and Gulden. . „ . You’ll hear of 
one, Joan Randle!” 

* 


# 


THE BORDER LEGION 


These were names of strange, unknown, and wM 
men of a growing and terrible legion on the border. 
Out there, somewhere, lived desperados, robbers, 
road-agents, murderers. More and more rumor had 
brought tidings of them into the once quiet village,' 
Joan felt a slight cold sinking sensation at her heart. 
But this was only a magnificent threat of Jim’s, He 
could not do such a thing. She would never let 
him, even if he could. But after the incomprehen¬ 
sible manner of woman, she did not tell him that, 
“Bah! You haven’t the nerve!” she retorted, 
with another mocking laugh. 

Haggard and fierce, he glared down at her a mo¬ 
ment, and then without another word he strode 
away. Joan was amazed, and a little sick, a little 
uncertain, still she did not call him back. 

And now at noon of the next day she had tracked 
him miles toward the mountains. It was a broad 
trail he had taken, one used by prospectors and hunt¬ 
ers. There was no danger of her getting lost. What 
risk she ran was of meeting some of these border 
ruffians that had of late been frequent visitors in the 
village. Presently she mounted again and rode down 
the ridge. She would go a mile or so farther. 

Behind every rock and cedar she expected to find 
Jim. Surely he had only threatened her. But she 
had taunted him in a way no man could stand, and 
if there were any strength of character in him he 
would show it now. Her remorse and dread in¬ 
creased. After all, he was only a boy—only a 
couple of years older than she was. Under stress of 
feeling he might go to any extreme. Had she mis* 
6 


THE BORDER LEGION 

fudged him? If she had not, she had at least been 
brutal. But he had dared to kiss her! Every time 
she thought of that a tingling, a confusion, a hot 
shame went over her. And at length Joan mar¬ 
veled to find that out of the affront to her pride, and 
the quarrel, and the fact of his going and of her fob 
lowing, and especially out of this increasing remorse¬ 
ful dread, there had flourished up a strange and re¬ 
luctant respect for Jim Cleve. 

She climbed another ridge and halted again. 
This time she saw a horse and rider down in the 
green. Her heart leaped. It must be Jim return¬ 
ing, After all, then, he had only threatened. She 
felt relieved and glad, yet vaguely sorry. She had 
been right in her conviction. 

She had not watched long, however, before she 
saw that this was not the horse Jim usually rode, 
She took the precaution then to hide behind some 
bushes, and watched from there. When the horse¬ 
man approached closer she discerned that instead of 
Jim it was Harvey Roberts, a man of the village and 
a good friend of her uncle’s. Therefore she rode 
out of her covert and hailed him. It was a significant 
thing that at sound of her voice Roberts started 
suddenly and reached for his gun* Then he recog¬ 
nized her. 

44 Hello, Joan!” he exclaimed, turning her way. 
“Reckon you give me a scare. You ain’t alone way 
out here?” 

“Yes. I was trailing Jim when I saw you,” she 
replied. 44 Thought you were Jim.” 

“Trailin’ Jim! What’s up?” 

“We quarreled. He swore he was going to the 
% 


THE BORDER LEGION 


devil. Over on the border! I was mad and told 
him to go. . . . But I’m sorry now—and have been 
trying to catch up with him.” 

“Ahuh! ... So that’s Jim’s trail. I sure was 
wonderin’. Joan, it turns off a few miles back an’ 
takes the trail for the border. I know. I’ve been 
in there.” 

Joan glanced up sharply at Roberts. His scarred 
and grizzled face seemed grave and he avoided her 
gaze. 

“You don’t believe—Jim ’ll really go?” she asked, 
hurriedly. 

“Reckon I do, Joan,” he replied, after a pause. 
“Jim is just fool enough. He had been gettin’ reck- 
lessler lately. An’, Joan, the times ain’t provocatin’ 
a young feller to be good. Jim had a bad fight the 
other night. He about half killed young Bradley. 
But I reckon you know.” 

“I’ve heard nothing,” she replied. “Tell me. 
Why did they fight?” 

“Report was that Bradley talked oncomplemen- 
tary about you.” 

Joan experienced a sweet, warm rush of blood—• 
another new and strange emotion. She did not like 
Bradley. He had been persistent and offensive. 

“Why didn’t Jim tell me?” she queried, half to 
herself. 

“Reckon he wasn’t proud of the shape he left 
Bradley in,” replied Roberts, with a laugh. “Come 
on, Joan, an’ make back tracks for home. 

Joan was silent a moment while she looked over 
the undulating green ridges toward the great gray 
and black walls. Something stirred deep within 


THE BORDER LEGION 


her. Her father in his youth had been an adven¬ 
turer. She felt the thrill and the call of her blood. 
And she had been unjust to a man who loved her. 

“I’m going after him,” she said. 

Roberts did not show any surprise. He looked 
at the position of the sun. “Reckon we might 
overtake him an’ get home before sundown,” he 
said, loconically, as he turned his horse. “We’ll 
make a short cut across here a few miles, an’ strike 
his trail. Can’t miss it.” 

Then he set off at a brisk trot and Joan fell in 
behind. She had a busy mind, and it was a sign of 
her preoccupation that she forgot to thank Roberts. 
Presently they struck into a valley, a narrow de¬ 
pression between the foot-hills and the ridges, and 
here they made faster time. The valley appeared 
miles long. Toward the middle of it Roberts called 
out to Joan, and, looking down, she saw they had 
come up with Jim’s trail. Here Roberts put his 
mount to a canter, and at that gait they trailed 
Jim out of the valley and up a slope which appeared 
to be a pass into the mountains. Time flew by for 
Joan, because she was always peering ahead in the 
hope and expectation of seeing Jim off in the dis¬ 
tance. But she had no glimpse of him. Now and 
then Roberts would glance around at the westering 
sun. The afternoon had far advanced. Joan be¬ 
gan to worry about home. She had been so sure 
of coming up with Jim and returning early in the 
day that she had left no word as to her intentions. 
Probably by this time somebody was out looking 
for her. 

The country grew rougher, rock-strewn, covered 
9 


THE BORDER LEGION 


with cedars and patches of pine. Deer crashed 
out of the thickets and grouse whirred up from 
under the horses. The warmth of the summer 
afternoon chilled. 

4 ‘Reckon we’d better give it up,” called Roberts 
back to her. 

“No—no. Go on,” replied Joan. 

And they urged their horses faster. Finally they 
reached the summit of the slope. From that height 
they saw down into a round, shallow valley, which 
led on, like all the deceptive reaches, to the ranges. 
There was water down there. It glinted like red 
ribbon in the sunlight. Not a living thing was in 
sight. Joan grew more discouraged. It seemed 
there was scarcely any hope of overtaking Jim that 
day. His trail led off round to the left and grew 
difficult to follow. Finally, to make matters 
worse, Roberts’s horse slipped in a rocky wash and 
lamed himself. He did not want to go on, and, 
when urged, could hardly walk. 

Roberts got off to examine the injury. “Wal, he 
didn’t break his leg,” he said, which was his man¬ 
ner of telling how bad the injury was. “Joan, I 
reckon there’ll be some worry in’ back home to¬ 
night. For your horse can’t carry double an’ I 
can’t walk.” 

Joan dismounted. There was water in the wash, 
and she helped Roberts bathe the sprained and 
swelling joint. In the interest and sympathy of the 
moment she forgot her own trouble. 

“Reckon we’ll have to make camp right here / 0 
said Roberts, looking around. “Lucky I’ve a pack 
m that saddle. I can make you comfortable. But 

io 


THE BORDER LEGION 


we’d better be careful about a fire an* not have onQ 
after dark.” 

4 ‘There’s no help for it,” replied Joan. “To 
morrow we’ll go on after Jim. He can’t be far 
ahead now.” She was glad that it was impossible 
to return home until the next day. 

Roberts took the pack off his horse, and then the 
saddle. And he was bending over in the act of 
loosening the cinches of Joan’s saddle when sud¬ 
denly he straightened up with a jerk. 

“What’s that?” 

Joan heard soft, dull thumps on the turf and 
then the sharp crack of an unshod hoof upon stone. 
Wheeling, she saw three horsemen. They were just 
across the wash and coming toward her. One rider 
pointed in her direction. Silhouetted against the red 
of the sunset they made dark and sinister figures. 
Joan glanced apprehensively at Roberts. He was 
staring with a look of recognition in his eyes. Under 
his breath he muttered a curse. And although Joan 
was not certain, she believed that his face had 
shaded gray. 

The three horsemen halted on the rim of the wash. 
One of them was leading a mule that carried a pack 
and a deer carcass. Joan had seen many riders ap¬ 
parently just like these, but none had ever so subtly 
and powerfully affected her. 

“Howdy,” greeted one of the men. 

And then Joan was positive that the face of 
Roberts had turned ashen gray. 


2 


CHAPTER II 


“IT ain’t you— Kells?” 

* Roberts’s query was a confirmation of his owe 
recognition. And the other’s laugh was an answer^ 
if one were needed. • - 

The three horsemen crossed the wash and again 
halted, leisurely, as if time Was no object. They 
were all young, under thirty. The two who had not 
spoken were rough-garbed, coarse-featured, and re¬ 
sembled in general a dozen men Joan saw every day. 
Kells was of a different stamp. Until he looked at 
her he reminded her of some one she had known 
back in Missouri; after he looked at her she was 
aware, in a curious, sickening way, that no such per- 
son as he had ever before seen her. He was pale, 
gray-eyed, intelligent, amiable. He appeared to bt 
a man who had been a gentleman. But there was 
something strange, intangible, immense about him 0 
Was that the effect of his presence or of his name? 
Kells! It was only a word to Joan. But it carried 
a nameless and terrible suggestion. During the last 
year many dark tales had gone from camp to camp 
in Idaho—some too strange, too horrible for cre¬ 
dence—and with every rumor the fame of Kells had 
grown, and also a fearful certainty of the rapid 
growth of a legion of evil men out on the border 
12 


THE BORDER LEGION 


But no one in the village or from any of the camps 
ever admitted having seen this Kells. Had fear 
kept them silent? Joan was amazed that Roberts 
evidently knew this man. 

Kells dismounted and offered his hand. Roberts 
took it and shook it constrainedly. 

4 ‘Where did we meet last?” asked Kells. 

“Reckon it was out of Fresno,” replied Roberts, 
and it was evident that he tried to hide the effect of 
a memory. 

Then Kells touched his hat to Joan, giving her 
the fleetest kind of a glance. . “Rather off the track, 
aren’t you?’ H *he asked Roberts. 

“Reckon we are,'” 'replied Roberts, and he began 
to lose some of his restraint. His voice sounded 
clearer and did not halt. “Been trailin’ Miss 
Randle’s favorite hoss. He’s lost. An’ we got 
farther ’n we had any idee. Then my hoss went 
lame. ’Fraid we can’t start home to-night.” 

“Where are you from?” 

“Hoadley. Bill Hoadley’s town, back thirty miles 
or so.” 

“Well, Roberts, if you’ve no objection we’ll camp 
here with you,” continued Kells. “We’ve got some 
fresh meat.” 

With that he addressed a word to his comrades, 
and they repaired to a cedar-tree near by, where 
they began to unsaddle and unpack. 

Then Roberts, bending nearer Joan, as if intent 
on his own pack, began to whisper, hoarsely: “That’5 
Jack Kells, the California road-agent. He’s a gum 
fighter—a hell-bent rattlesnake. When I saw him 
last he had a rope round his neck an J was bein : led 


THE BORDER LEGION 


away to be hanged, I heerd afterward he wag 
rescued by pals, Joan, if the idee comes into his 
head he’ll kill me, I don’t know what to do. For 
God’s sake think of somethin’! ... Use your 
woman’s wits! . . . We couldn’t be in a wuss fix!’' 

Joan felt rather unsteady on her feet, so that it 
was a relief to sit down. She was cold and sick in¬ 
wardly, almost stunned. Some great peril menaced 
her. Men like Roberts did not talk that way with¬ 
out cause. She was brave; she was not unused to 
danger. But this must be a different kind, com¬ 
pared with which all she had experienced was but 
insignificant. She could not grasp Roberts’s inti¬ 
mation. Why should he be killed? They had no 
gold, no valuables. Even their horses were noth¬ 
ing to inspire robbery. It must be that there was 
peril to Roberts and to her because she was a girl,j 
caught out in the wilds, easy prey for beasts of evil 
men. She had heard of such things happening. 
Still, she could not believe it possible for her. Rob¬ 
erts could protect her. Then this amiable, well- 
spoken Kells, he was no Western rough—he spoke 
like an educated man; surely he would not harm 
her. So her mind revolved round fears, conjectures, 
possibilities; she could not find her wits. She could 
not think how to meet the situation, even had she 
divined what the situation was to be. 

While she sat there in the shade of a cedar the 
men busied themselves with camp duties. None of 
them appeared to pay any attention to Joan. They 
talked while they worked, as any other group of 
campers might have talked, and jested and laughed, 
Kells made a fire, and carried water, then broke cedar 
14 


THE BORDER LEGION 

boughs for later camp-fire use; one of the strangers 
whom they called Bill hobbled the horses; the other 
unrolled the pack, spread a tarpaulin, and emptied 
the greasy sacks; Roberts made biscuit dough for 
the oven. 

The sun sank red and a ruddy twilight fell. It 
soon passed. Darkness had about set in when 
Roberts came over to Joan, carrying bread, coffee, 
and venison. 

“Here’s your supper, Joan,” he called, quite loud 
and cheerily, and then he whispered: “Mebbe it 
ain’t so bad. They-all seem friendly. But I’m 
scared, Joan. If you jest wasn’t so dam’ handsome, 
or if only he hadn’t seen you!” 

“Can’t we slip off in the dark?” she whispered in 
return. 

“We might try. But it’d be no use if they mean 
bad. I can’t make up my mind yet what’s cornin' 
off. It’s all right for you to pretend you’re bash¬ 
ful. But don’t lose your nerve.” 

Then he returned to the camp-fire. Joan was 
hungry. She ate and drank what had been given 
her, and that helped her to realize reality. And 
although dread abided with her, she grew curious. 
Almost she imagined she was fascinated by her 
predicament. She had always been an emotional 
girl of strong will and self-restraint. She had al¬ 
ways longed for she knew not what — perhaps 
freedom. Certain places had haunted her. She 
had felt that something should have happened to 
her there. Yet nothing ever had happened. Cer¬ 
tain books had obsessed her, even when a child* and 
often to her mother's dismay; for these books had 


THE BORDER LEGION 

ibeen of wild places and life on the sea, adventure, 
and bloodshed. It had always been said of her that 
she should have been a boy. 

Night settled down black. A pale, narrow cloud, 
marked by a train of stars, extended across the 
dense blue sky. The wind moaned in the cedars 
and roared in the replenished camp-fire. Sparks 
flew away into the shadows. And on the puffs of 
smoke that blew toward her came the sweet, pun¬ 
gent odor of burning cedar. Coyotes barked off 
under the brush, and from away on the ridge drifted 
the dismal defiance of a wolf. 

Camp-life was no new thing to Joan. She had 
crossed the plains in a wagon-train, that more than 
once had known the long-drawn yell of hostile In¬ 
dians. She had prospected and hunted in the 
mountains with her uncle, weeks at a time. But 
never before this night had the wildness, the loneb 
ness, been so vivid to her. 

Roberts was on his knees, scouring his oven with 
wet sand. His big, shaggy head nodded in the fire¬ 
light. He seemed pondering and thick and slow. 
There was a burden upon him. The man Bill and 
his companion lay back against stones and con¬ 
versed low. Kells stood up in the light of the blaze. 
He had a pipe at which he took long pulls and then 
sent up clouds of smoke. There was nothing im¬ 
posing in his build or striking in his face, at that 
distance; but it took no second look to see here 
was a man remarkably out of the ordinary. Some 
kind of power and intensity emanated from him. 
From time to time he appeared to glance in Joan’s 
direction; still, she could not be sure, for his eyes 
16 


THE BORDER LEGION 


were but shadows. He had cast aside his coat. 
He wore a vest open all the way, and a checked soft 
shirt, with a black tie hanging untidily. A broad 
belt swung below his hip and in the holster was a 
heavy gun. That was a strange place to carry a 
gun, Joan thought. It looked awkward to her. 
When he walked it might swing round and bump 
against his leg. And he certainly would have to 
put it some other place when he rode. 

'‘Say, have you got a blanket for that girl?” asked 
Kells, removing his pipe from his lips to address 
Roberts. 

‘‘I got saddle-blankets,’’ responded Roberts. “You 
see, we didn’t expect to be caught out.” 

“I’ll let you have one,” said Kells, walking away 
from the fire. “It will be cold.” He returned with 
a blanket, which he threw to Roberts. 

“Much obliged,” muttered Roberts. 

“I’ll bunk by the fire,” went on the other, and 
with that he sat down and appeared to become ab¬ 
sorbed in thought. 

Roberts brought the borrowed blanket and several 
saddle-blankets over to where Joan was, and laying 
them down he began to kick and scrape stones and 
brush aside. 

“Pretty rocky place, this here is,” he said. 

Reckon you’ll sleep some, though.” 

Then he began arranging the blankets into a bed. 
Presently Joan felt a tug at her riding-skirt. She 
looked down. 

“I’ll be right by you,” he whispered, with his big 
hand to his mouth, “an’ I ain’t a-goin’ to sleep 
none.” 


17 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Whereupon he returned to the camp-fire,, Pres* 
ently Joan, not because she was tired or sleepy, but 
because she wanted to act naturally, lay down on 
the bed and pulled a blanket up over her. There 
was no more talking among the men. Once she 
heard the jingle of spurs and the rustle of cedar 
brush. By and by Roberts came back to her, drag¬ 
ging his saddle, and lay down near her. Joan 
raised up a little to see Kells motionless and ab¬ 
sorbed by the fire. He had-a strained and tense 
position. She sank back softly and looked up at 
the cold bright stars. What was going to happen 
to her? Something terrible! The very night shad¬ 
ows, the silence, the presence of strange men, all 
told her. And a shudder that was a thrill ran over 
and over her. 

She would lie awake. It would be impossible to 
sleep. And suddenly into her full mind flashed an 
idea to slip away in the darkness, find her horse, and 
so escape from any possible menace. This plan oc¬ 
cupied her thoughts for a long while. If she had 
not been used to Western ways she would have tried 
just that thing. But she rejected it. She was not 
sure that she could slip away, or find her horse, 
or elude pursuit, and certainly not sure of her way 
home. It would be best to stay with Roberts. 

' When that was settled her mind ceased to race. 
She grew languid and sleepy. The warmth of the 
blankets stole over her. She had no idea of sleeping, 
yet she found sleep more and more difficult to resist. 
Time that must have been hours passed. The fire 
died down and then brightened; the shadows dark¬ 
ened and then lightened. Some one now and then 
18 


THE BORDER LEGION 


got up to throw on wood. The thump of hobbled 
hoofs sounded out in the darkness. The wind was 
still and the coyotes were gone. She could no longer 
open her eyes. They seemed glued shut. And then 
gradually all sense of the night and the wild, of the 
drowsy warmth, faded. 

When she awoke the air was nipping cold. Her 
eyes snapped open clear and bright. The tips of 
the cedars were ruddy in the sunrise. A camp-fire 
crackled. Blue smoke curled upward. Joan sat up 
with a rush of memory. Roberts and Kells were 
bustling round the fire. The man Bill was carrying 
water. The other fellow had brought in the horses 
and was taking off the hobbles. No one, apparently, 
paid any attention to Joan. She got up and smoothed 
out her tangled hair, which she always wore in a 
braid down her back when she rode. She had slept, 
then, and in her boots! That was the first time she 
had ever done that. When she went down to the 
brook to bathe her face and wash her hands, the men 
still, apparently, took no notice of her. She began 
to hope that Roberts had exaggerated their danger. 
Her horse was rather skittish and did not care for 
strange hands. He broke away from the bunch. 
Joan went after him, even lost sight of camp. Pres¬ 
ently, after she caught him, she led him back to 
camp and tied him up. And then she was so far 
emboldened as to approach the fire and to greet the 
men. 

“Good morning,” she said, brightly. 

Kells had his back turned at the moment. He did 
not move or speak or give any sign he had heard. 
The man Bill stared boldly at her, but without a 
ip 


THE BORDER LEGION 

word. Roberts returned her greeting, and as she 
glanced quickly at him, drawn by his voice, he turned 
away. But she had seen that his face was dark, 
haggard, worn. 

Joan’s cheer and hope sustained a sudden and vio¬ 
lent check. There was something wrong in this/ 
group, and she could not guess what it was. She 
seemed to have a queer, dragging weight at her limbs. 
She was glad to move over to a stone and sink down 
upon it. Roberts brought her breakfast, but he 
did not speak or look at her. His hands shook. And 
this frightened Joan. What was going to happen? 
Roberts went back to the camp-fire. Joan had to 
force herself to eat. There was one thing of which 
she was sure—that she would need all the strength 
and fortitude she could summon. 

Joan became aware, presently, that Kells was con¬ 
versing with Roberts, but too low for her to hear 
what was said. She saw Roberts make a gesture 
of fierce protest. About the other man there was 
an air cool, persuading, dominant. He ceased speak¬ 
ing, as if the incident were closed. Roberts hurried 
and blundered through his task with his pack and 
went for his horse. The animal limped slightly, but 
evidently was not in bad shape. Roberts saddled 
him, tied on the pack. Then he saddled Joan’s 
horse. That done, he squared around with the front 
of a man who had to face something he dreaded. 

“Come on, Joan. We’re ready,” he called. His 
voice was loud, but not natural. 

Joan started to cross to him when Kells strode 
between them. She might not have been there, for 
all the sign this ominous man g£ve of her presence. 

20 


THE BORDER LEGION 


He confronted Roberts in the middle of the camp* 
circle, and halted, perhaps a rod distant. 

“Roberts, get on your horse and clear out,” he said. 

Roberts dropped his halter and straightened up. 
It was a bolder action than any he had heretofore 
given. Perhaps the mask was off now; he was 
wholly sure of what he had only feared; subterfuge 
and blindness were in vain; and now he could be a 
man. Some change worked in his face—a blanch¬ 
ing, a setting. 

“No, I won’t go without the girl,” he said. 

“But you can’t take her!” 

Joan vibrated to a sudden start. So this was what 
was going to happen. Her heart almost stood still. 
Breathless and quivering, she watched these two men, 
about whom now all was strangely magnified. 

“Reckon I’ll go along with you, then,” replied 
Roberts. 

“Your company’s not wanted.” 

“Wal, I’ll go anyway.” 

This was only play at words, Joan thought. She 
divined in Roberts a cold and grim acceptance of 
something he had expected. And the voice of Kells 
—what did that convey? Still the man seemed 
slow, easy, kind, amiable. 

“Haven’t you got any sense, Roberts?” he asked. 

Roberts made no reply to that. 

“Go on home. Say nothing or anything—what¬ 
ever you like,” continued Kells. “You did me a 
favor once over in California. I like to remember 
favors. Use your head now. Hit the trail.” 

“Not without her. I’ll fight first,” declared Rob¬ 
erts, and his hands began to twitch and jerk. 

21 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan did not miss the wonderful intentness oi 
the pale-gray eyes that watched Roberts—his face, 
his glance, his hands. 

“What good will it do to fight?” asked Kells. He 
laughed coolly. “That won’t help her. . . . You 
ought to know what you’ll get.” 

“Kells—I’ll die before I leave that girl in your 
clutches,” flashed Roberts. “An’ I ain’t a-goin’ to 
stand here an’ argue with you. Let her come — 
or—” 

“You don’t strike me as a fool,” interrupted Kells. 
His voice was suave, smooth, persuasive, cool. 
What strength—what certainty appeared behind it! 
“It’s not my habit to argue with fools. Take the 
chance I offer you. Hit the trail. Life is precious, 
man! . . . You’ve no chance here. And what’s one 
girl more or less to you?” 

“Kells, I may be a fool, but I’m a man,” passion¬ 
ately rejoined Roberts. “Why, you’re somethin' 
inhuman! I knew that out in the gold-fields. But 
to think you can stand there—an’ talk sweet an’ 
pleasant—with no idee of manhood! . . . Let her 
come now—or—or I’m a-goin’ for my gun!” 

“Roberts, haven’t you a wife—children?” 

“Yes, I have,” shouted Roberts, huskily. “An* 
that wife would disown me if I left Joan Randle to 
you. An’ I’ve got a grown girl. Mebbe some day 
she might need a man to stand between her an’ such 
as you, Jack Kells!” 

All Roberts’s pathos and passion had no effect, 
unless to bring out by contrast the singular and ruth¬ 
less nature of Jack Kells. 

“Will you hit the trail?” 

22 


THE BORDER LEGION 


No!” thundered Roberts. 

Until then Joan Randle had been fascinated, held 
by the swift interchange between her friend and 
enemy. But now she had a convulsion of fear. 
She had seen men fight, but never to the death. 
Roberts crouched like a wolf at bay. There was a 
madness upon him. He shook like a rippling leaf. 
Suddenly his shoulder lurched—his arm swung. 

Joan wheeled away in horror, shutting her eyes, 
covering her ears, running blindly. Then upon her 
muffled hearing burst the boom of a gun. 


CHAPTER III 


J OAN ran on, stumbling over rocks and brushy 
with a darkness before her eyes, and terror in 
her soul. She was out in the cedars when some one 
grasped her from behind. She felt the hands as the 
coils of a snake. Then she was ready to faint, but 
she must not faint. She struggled away, stood 
free. It was the man Bill who had caught her. He 
said something that was unintelligible. She reached 
for the snag of a dead cedar and, leaning there, 
fought her weakness, that cold black horror which 
seemed a physical thing in her mind, her blood, her 
muscles. 

When she recovered enough for the thickness to 
leave her sight she saw Kells coming, leading her 
horse and his own. At sight of him a strange, swift 
heat shot through her. Then she was confounded 
with the thought of Roberts. 

“Ro—Roberts?” she faltered. 

Kells gave her a piercing glance. “Miss Randle, 
I had to take the fight out of your friend,” he saido 
“You—you— Is he—dead?” 

“I just crippled his gun-arm. If I hadn’t he 
would have hurt somebody. He’ll ride back to 
Hoadley and tell your folks about it. So they’il 
know you’re safe.” 


24 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“Safe!” she whispered. 

“That’s what I said, Miss Randle. If you’re 
going to ride out into the border—if it’s possible 
jo be safe out there you’ll be so with me.” 

“But I want to go home. Oh, please let me go!” 

“I couldn’t think of it.” 

“Then—what will you—do with me?” 

Again that gray glance pierced her. His eyes 
were clear, flawless, like crystal, without coldness, 
warmth, expression. “I’ll get a barrel of gold out 
of you.” 

“How?” she asked, wonderingly. 

“I’ll hold you for ransom. Sooner or later those 
prospectors over there are going to strike gold. 
Strike it rich! I know that. I’ve got to make a 
living some way.” 

Kells was tightening the cinch on her saddle 
while he spoke. His voice, his manner, the amiable 
smile on his intelligent face, they all appeared to 
come from sincerity. But for those strange eyes 
Joan would have wholly believed him. As it was, 
a half doubt troubled her. She remembered the 
character Roberts had given this man. Still, she 
was recovering her nerve. It had been the certainty 
of disaster to Roberts that had made her weaken. 
As he was only slightly wounded and free to ride 
home safely, she had not the horror of his death upon 
her. Indeed, she was now so immensely uplifted 
that she faced the situation unflinchingly. 

“Bill,” called Kells to the man standing there 
with a grin on his coarse red face, ‘‘‘you go back and 
help Halloway pack. Then take my trail.” 

Bill nodded, and was walking away when Kells 
25 


THE BORDER LEGION 


called after him: “And say, Bill, don’t say anything 
to Roberts. He’s easily riled.” 

“Haw! Haw! Haw!” laughed Bill. 

His harsh laughter somehow rang jarringly in 
Joan’s ears. But she was used to violent men who 
expressed mirth over mirthless jokes. 

“Get up, Miss Randle,” said Kells as he mounted. 
“We’ve a long ride. You’ll need all your strength. 
So I advise you to come quietly with me and not 
try to get away. It won’t be any use trying.” 

Joan climbed into her saddle and rode after him. 
Once she looked back in hope of seeing Roberts, of 
waving a hand to him. She saw his horse standing 
saddled, and she saw Bill struggling under a pack, 
but there was no sign of Roberts. Then more cedars 
intervened and the camp site was lost to view. When 
she glanced ahead her first thought was to take in 
the points of Kells’s horse. She had been used to 
horses all her life. Kells rode a big rangy bay—a 
horse that appeared to snort speed and endurance. 
Her pony could never run away from that big brute. 
Still Joan had the temper to make an attempt to 
escape, if a favorable way presented. 

The morning was rosy, clear, cool; there was a 
sweet, dry tang in the air; white-tailed deer bounded 
out of the open spaces; and the gray-domed, glisten¬ 
ing mountains, with their bold, black-fringed slopes, 
overshadowed the close foot-hills. 

Joan was a victim to swift vagaries of thought and 
conflicting emotions. She was riding away with a 
freebooter, a road-agent, to be held for ransom. The 
fact was scarcely credible. She could not shake the 
dread of nameless peril. She tried not to recali 
26 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Roberts’s words, yet they haunted her. If she had 
not been so handsome, he had said! Joan knew 
she possessed good looks, but they had never caused 
her any particular concern. That Kells had let 
that influence him—as Roberts had imagined—was 
more than absurd. Kells had scarcely looked at her. 
It was gold such men wanted. She wondered what 
her ransom would be, where her uncle would get it, 
and if there really was a likelihood of that rich 
strike. Then she remembered her mother, who had 
died when she was a little girl, and a strange, sweet 
sadness abided with her. It passed. She saw her 
uncle—that great, robust, hearty, splendid old man, 
with his laugh and his kindness, and his love for her, 
and his everlasting unquenchable belief that soon he 
would make a rich gold-strike. What a roar and a 
stampede he would raise at her loss! The village 
camp might be divided on that score, she thought, 
because the few young women in that little settle¬ 
ment hated her, and the young men would have more 
peace without her. Suddenly her thought shifted to 
Jim Cleve, the cause of her present misfortune. She 
had forgotten Jim. In the interval somehow he had 
grown. Sweet to remember how he had fought for 
her and kept it secret! After all, she had misjudged 
him. She had hated him because she liked him. 
Maybe she did more! That gave her a shock. She 
recalled his kisses and then flamed all over. If she 
did not hate him she ought to. He had been so use¬ 
less; he ran after her so; he was the laughing-stock 
of the village; his actions made her other admirers 
and friends believe she cared for him, was playing 
fast-and-loose with him. Still, there was a differ- 
3 27 


THE BORDER LEGION 


ence now. He had terribly transgressed. He had 
frightened her with threats of dire ruin to himself. 
And because of that she had trailed him, to fall her¬ 
self upon a hazardous experience. Where was Jim 
Cleve now? Like a flash then occurred to her the 
singular possibility. Jim had ridden for the border 
with the avowed and desperate intention of finding 
Kells and Gulden and the bad men of that track¬ 
less region. He would do what he had sworn he 
would. And here she was, the cause of it all, a 
captive of this notorious Kells! She was being led 
into that wild border country. Somewhere out 
there Kells and Jim Cleve would meet. Jim would 
find her in Kells’s hands. Then there would be 
hell, Joan thought. The possibility, the certainty, 
seemed to strike deep into her, reviving that dread 
and terror. Yet she thrilled again; a ripple that was 
not all cold coursed through her. Something had a 
birth in her then, and the part of it she understood 
was that she welcomed the adventure with a throb¬ 
bing heart, yet looked with awe and shame and dis¬ 
trust at this new, strange side of her nature. 

And while her mind was thus thronged the morn¬ 
ing hours passed swiftly, the miles of foot-hills were 
climbed and descended. A green gap of canon, 
wild and yellow-walled, yawned before her, opening 
into the mountain. 

Kells halted on the grassy bank of a shallow brook, 
“Get down. We’ll noon here and rest the horses,” 
he said to Joan. “I can’t say that you’re anything 
but game. We’ve done perhaps twenty-five miles 
this morning.” 

The mouth of this canon was a wild, green- 
28 


THE BORDER LEGION 


flowered, beautiful place. There were willows and 
alders and aspens along the brook. The green bench 
was like a grassy meadow. Joan caught a glimpse 
of a brown object, a deer or bear, stealing away 
through spruce-trees on the slope. She dismounted, 
aware now that her legs ached and it was comfort¬ 
able to stretch them. Looking backward across the 
valley toward the last foot-hill, she saw the other 
men, with horses and packs, coming. She had a habit 
of close observation, and she thought that either 
the men with the packs had now one more horse 
than she remembered, or else she had not seen the 
extra one. Her attention shifted then. She watched 
Kells unsaddle the horses. He was wiry, muscular, 
quick with his hands. The big, blue-cylindered gun 
swung in front of him. That gun had a queer kind 
of attraction for her. The curved black butt made 
her think of a sharp grip of hand upon it. Kells 
did not hobble the horses. He slapped his bay on 
the haunch and drove him down toward the brook. 
Joan’s pony followed. They drank, cracked the 
stones, climbed the other bank, and began to roll 
in the grass. Then the other men with the packs 
trotted up. Joan was glad. She had not thought 
of it before, but now she felt she would rather not 
be alone with Kells. She remarked then that there 
was no extra horse in the bunch. It seemed strange, 
her thinking that, and she imagined she was not 
clear-headed. 

“Throw the packs, Bill,” said Kells. 

Another fire was kindled and preparations made 
toward a noonday meal. Bill and Halloway appeared 
loquacious, and inclined to steal glances at Joan 
29 


THE BORDER LEGION 


when Kells could not notice. Halloway whistled a 
Dixie tune. Then Bill took advantage of the ab¬ 
sence of Kells, who went down to the brook, and he 
began to leer at Joan and make bold eyes at her. 
Joan appeared not to notice him, and thereafter 
averted her gaze. The men chuckled. 

“She’s the proud hussy! But she ain’t foolin' 
me. I’ve knowed a heap of wimmen.” Where- 
upon Halloway guffawed, and between them, in 
lower tones, they exchanged mysterious remarks, 
Kells returned with a bucket of water. 

“What’s got into you men?” he queried. 

Both of them looked around, blusteringly innocent. 

“Reckon it’s the same that’s ailin’ you,” replied 
Bill. He showed that among wild, unhampered men 
how little could inflame and change. 

“Boss, it’s the onaccustomed company,” added 
Halloway, with a conciliatory smile. “Bill sort of 
warms up. He jest can’t help it. An’ seein’ what 
a thunderin’ crab he always is, why I’m glad an 9 
welcome.” 

Kells vouchsafed no reply to this and, turning 
away, continued at his tasks. Joan had a close look 
at his eyes and again she was startled. They were 
not like eyes, but just gray spaces, opaque openings, 
with nothing visible behind, yet with something 
terrible there. 

The preparations for the meal went on, somewhat 
constrainedly on the part of Bill and Halloway, and 
presently were ended. Then the men attended to 
it with appetites bom of the open and of action. 
Joan sat apart from them on the bank of the brook, 
and after she had appeased her own hunger she 
30 


THE BORDER LEGION 


rested, leaning back in the shade of an alder-bush. 
A sailing shadow crossed near her, and, looking up, 
she saw an eagle flying above the ramparts of the 
canon. Then she had a drowsy spell, but she suc¬ 
cumbed to it only to the extent of closing her 
eyes. Time dragged on. She would rather have 
been in the saddle. These men were leisurely, and 
Kells was provokingly slow. They had nothing to 
do with time but waste it. She tried to combat the 
desire for hurry, for action; she could not gain any¬ 
thing by worry. Nevertheless, resignation would 
not come to her and her hope began to flag. Some¬ 
thing portended evil—something hung in the bal¬ 
ance. 

The snort and tramp of horses roused her, and 
upon sitting up she saw the men about to pack and 
saddle again. Kells had spoken to her only twice 
so far that day. She was grateful for his silence, 
but could not understand it. He seemed to have a 
preoccupied air that somehow did not fit the amiable¬ 
ness of his face. He looked gentle, good-natured; 
he was soft-spoken; he gave an impression of kind¬ 
ness. But Joan began fo realize that he was not 
what he seemed. He had something on his mind. 
It was not conscience, nor a burden: it might be a 
projection, a plan, an absorbing scheme, a something 
that gained food with thought. Joan wondered 
doubtfully if it were the ransom of gold he expected 
to get. 

Presently, when all was about in readiness for a 
fresh start, she rose to her feet. Kells’s bay was 
not tractable at the moment. Bill held out Joan’s 
bridle to her and their hands touched. The con- 
31 


THE BORDER LEGION 


tact was an accident, but it resulted in Bill’s grasp« 
ing back at her hand. She jerked it away, scarcely 
comprehending. Then all under the brown of his 
face she saw creep a dark, ruddy tide. He reached 
for her then—put his hand on her breast. It was an 
instinctive animal action. He meant nothing. She 
divined that he could not help it. She had lived with 
rough men long enough to know he had no motive—- 
no thought at all. But at the profanation of such 
a touch she shrank back, uttering a cry. 

At her elbow she heard a quick step and a sharp- 
drawn breath or hiss. 

“Aw, Jack /” cried Bill. 

Then Kells, in lithe and savage swiftness, came 
between them. He swung his gun, hitting Bill full 
in the face. The man fell, limp and heavy, and he 
lay there, with a bloody gash across his brow. 
Kells stood over him a moment, slowly lowering the 
gun. Joan feared he meant to shoot. 

“Oh, don’t—don’t!” she cried. “He—he didn t 
hurt me.” 

Kells pushed her back. When he touched her she 
seemed to feel the shock of an electric current. His 
face had not changed, but his eyes were terrible. 
On the background of gray were strange, leaping red 
flecks. 

“Take your horse,” he ordered. “No. Walk 
across the brook. There’s a trail. Go up the canon. 
I’ll come presently. Don’t run and don’t hide. It ’ll 
be the worse for you if you do. Hurry!” 

Joan obeyed. She flashed past the open-jawed 
Halloway and, running down to the brook, stepped 
across from stone to stone. She found the trail and 
32 


THE BORDER LEGION 


hurriedly followed it. She did not look back. It 
never occurred to her to hide, to try to get away. 
She only obeyed, conscious of some force that domi¬ 
nated her. Once she heard loud voices, then the 
shrill neigh of a horse. The trail swung under the 
left wall of the canon and ran along the noisy 
brook. She thought she heard shots and was startled, 
but she could not be sure. She stopped to listen. 
Only the babble of swift water and the sough of 
wind in the spruces greeted her ears. She went on, 
beginning to collect her thoughts, to conjecture on 
the significance of Kells’s behavior. 

But had that been the spring of his motive? She 
doubted it—she doubted all about him, save that 
subtle essence of violence, of ruthless force and in¬ 
tensity, of terrible capacity, which hung round him. 

A halloo caused her to stop and turn. Two pack- 
horses were jogging up the trail. Kells was driving 
them and leading her pony. Nothing could be seen 
of the other men. Kells rapidly overhauled her, 
and she had to get out of the trail to let the pack- 
animals pass. He threw her bridle to her. 

“Get up,” he said. 

She complied. And then she bravely faced him. 
“Where are—the other men?” 

“We parted company,” he replied, curtly. 

“Why?” she persisted. 

“Well, if you’re anxious to know, it was because 
you were winning their—regard—too much to suit 
me.” 

“Winning their regard!” Joan exclaimed, blankly. 

Here those gray, piercing eyes went through her, 
then swiftly shifted. She was quick to divine from 
33 


THE BORDER LEGION 


that the inference in his words—he suspected her of 
flirting with those ruffians, perhaps to escape him 
through them. That had only been his suspicion— 
groundless after his swift glance at her. Perhaps 
unconsciousness of his meaning, a simulated inno¬ 
cence and ignorance might serve her with this strange 
man. She resolved to try it, to use all her woman’s 
intuition and wit and cunning. Here was an edu¬ 
cated man who was a criminal—an outcast. Deep 
within him might be memories of a different life. 
They might be stirred. Joan decided in that swift 
instant that, if she could understand him, learn his 
real intentions toward her, she could cope with 
him. 

“Bill and his pard were thinking too much of—of 
Mie ransom I’m after,” went on Kells, with a short 
laugh. “Come on now. Ride close to me.” 

Joan turned into the trail with his laugh ringing in 
her ears. Did she only imagine a mockery in it? 
Was there any reason to believe a word this man 
said? She appeared as helpless to see through him 
as she was in her predicament. 

They had entered a canon, such as was typical 
of that mountain range, and the winding trail which 
ran beneath the yellow walls was one unused to 
travel. Joan could not make out any old tracks, ex¬ 
cept those of deer and cougar. The crashing of wild 
animals into the chaparral, and the scarcely fright¬ 
ened flight of rabbits and grouse attested to the wild¬ 
ness of the place. They passed an old tumble- 
down log cabin, once used, no doubt, by prospectors 
and hunters. Here the trail ended. Yet Kells kept 
on up the canon. And for all Joan could tell the 
34 


THE BORDER LEGION 


walls grew only the higher and the timber heavier 
and the space wider. 

At a turn, when the second pack-horse, that ap¬ 
peared unused to his task, came fully into Joan’s 
sight, she was struck with his resemblance to some 
horse with which she was familiar. It was scarcely an 
impression which she might have received from seeing 
Kells’s horse or Bill’s or any one’s a few times. There¬ 
fore she watched this animal, studying his gait and be¬ 
havior. It did not take long for her to discover that 
he was not a pack-horse. He resented that burden. 
He did not know how to swing it. This made her 
deeply thoughtful and she watched closer than ever. 
All at once there dawned on her the fact that the 
resemblance here was to Roberts’s horse. She 
caught her breath and felt again that cold gnawing 
of fear within her. Then she closed her eyes the 
better to remember significant points about Roberts’s 
sorrel—a white left front foot, an old diamond 
brand, a ragged forelock, and an unusual marking, 
a fight bar across hi - face. When Joan had recalled 
these, she felt so certain that she would find them 
on this pack-horse that she was afraid to open her 
eyes. She forced herself to look, and it seemed that 
in one glance she saw three of them. Still she clung 
to hope. Then the horse, picking his way, partially 
turning toward her, disclosed the bar across his face. 

Joan recognized it. Roberts was not on his way 
home. Kells had lied. Kells had killed him. How 
plain and fearful the proof! It verified Roberts’s 
gloomy prophecy. Joan suddenly grew sick and 
dizzy. She reeled in her saddle. It was only by 
dint of the last effort of strength and self-control 
35 


THE BORDER LEGION 

that she kept her seat. She fought the horror as if 
it were a beast. Hanging over the pommel, with 
shut eyes, letting her pony find the way, she sus¬ 
tained this shock of discovery and did not let it ut¬ 
terly overwhelm her. And as she conquered the 
sickening weakness her mind quickened to the 
changed aspect of her situation. She understood 
Kells and the appalling nature of her peril. She 
did not know how she understood him now, but 
doubt had utterly fled. All was clear, real, grim, 
present. Like a child she had been deceived, for 
no reason she could see. That talk of ransom was 
false. Likewise Kells’s assertion that he had parted 
company with Halloway and Bill because he would 
not share the ransom—that, too, was false. The 
idea of a ransom, in this light, was now ridiculous. 
From that first moment Kells had wanted her; he 
had tried to persuade Roberts to leave her, and, fail¬ 
ing, had killed him; he had rid himself of the other 
two men—and now Joan knew she had heard shots 
back there. Kells’s intention loomed out of all his 
dark brooding, and it stood clear now to her, 
dastardly, worse than captivity, or torture, or 
death—the worst fate that could befall a woman. 

The reality of it now was so astounding. True—• 
as true as those stories she had deemed impossible! 
Because she and her people and friends had ap¬ 
peared secure in their mountain camp and happy in 
their work and trustful of good, they had scarcely 
credited the rumors of just such things as had hap¬ 
pened to her. The stage held up by road-agents, 
a lonely prospector murdered and robbed, fights in 
the saloons and on the trails, and useless pursuit 
36 


THE BORDER LEGION 


of hard-riding men out there on the border, illusive 
as Arabs, swift as Apaches—these facts had been ter¬ 
rible enough, without the dread of worse. The truth 
of her capture, the meaning of it, were raw, shocking 
spurs to Joan Randle's intelligence and courage. 
Since she still lived, which was strange indeed in the 
illuminating light of her later insight into Kells 
and his kind, she had to meet him with all that was 
catlike and subtle and devilish at the command of 
a woman. She had to win him, foil him, kill him— 
or go to her death. She was no girl to be dragged 
into the mountain fastness by a desperado and made 
a plaything. Her horror and terror had worked its 
way deep into the depths of her and uncovered pow¬ 
ers never suspected, never before required in her 
scheme of life. She had no longer any fear. She 
matched herself against this man. She anticipated 
him. And she felt like a woman who had lately 
been a thoughtless girl, who, in turn, had dreamed 
of vague old happenings of a past before she was 
bom, of impossible adventures in her own future. 
Hate and wrath and outraged womanhood were not 
wholly the secret of Joan Randle’s flaming spirit. 


CHAPTER IV 


J OAN RANDLE rode on and on, through tha„ 
canon, out at its head and over a pass into another 
canon, and never did she let it be possible for Kells 
to see her eyes until she knew beyond peradventure 
of a doubt that they hid the strength and spirit and 
secret of her soul. 

The time came when traveling was so steep and 
rough that she must think first of her horse and her 
own safety. Kells led up over a rock-jumbled spur 
of range, where she had sometimes to follow on foot. 
It seemed miles across that wilderness of stone. 
Foxes and wolves trotted over open places, watching 
stealthily. All around dark mountain peaks stood 
up. The afternoon was far advanced when Kells 
started to descend again, and he rode a zigzag course 
on weathered slopes and over brushy benches, down 
and down into the canons again. 

A lonely peak was visible, sunset-flushed against 
the blue, from the point where Kells finally halted. 
That ended the longest ride Joan had ever made in 
one day. For miles and miles they had climbed and 
descended and wound into the mountains. Joan 
had scarcely any idea of direction. She was com¬ 
pletely turned around and lost. This spot was the 
wildest and most beautiful she had ever seen. A 
38 


THE BORDER LEGION 


canon headed here. It was narrow, low-walled, and 
luxuriant with grass and wild roses and willow and 
spruce and balsam. There were deer standing with 
long ears erect, motionless, curious, tame as cattle. 
There were moving streaks through the long grass, 
showing the course of smaller animals slipping away. 

Then under a giant balsam, that reached aloft to 
the rim-wall, Joan saw a little log cabin, open in 
front. It had not been built very long; some of 
the log ends still showed yellow. It did not resemble 
the hunters’ and prospectors’ cabins she had seen 
on her trips with her uncle. 

In a sweeping glance Joan had taken in these fea¬ 
tures. Kells had dismounted and approached her. 
She looked frankly, but not directly, at him. 

‘Tm tired—almost too tired to get off,” she 
said. 

“Fifty miles of rock and brush, up and down! 
Without a kick!” he exclaimed, admiringly. “You’ve 
got sand, girl!” 

“Where are we?” 

“This is Lost Canon. Only a few men know of 
it. And they are—attached to me. I intend to 
keep you here.” 

“How long?” She felt the intensity of his gaze. 

“Why—as long as—” he replied, slowly, “till I 
get my ransom.” 

“What amount will you ask?” 

“You’re worth a hundred thousand in gold right 
now. . . . Maybe later I might let you go for less.” 

Joan’s keen-wrought perception registered his co¬ 
vert, scarcely veiled implication. He was studying 
her. 


39 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“Oh, poor uncle! He’ll never, never get 
much.” 

“Sure he will,” replied Kells, bluntly. 

Then he helped her out of the saddle. She wa§ 
stiff and awkward, and she let herself slide. Kells 
handled her gently and like a gentleman, and for 
Joan the first agonizing moment of her ordeal was 
past. Her intuition had guided her correctly. Kells 
might have been and probably was the most de¬ 
praved of outcast men; but the presence of a girl, 
like her, however it affected him, must also have 
brought up associations of a time when by family 
and breeding and habit he had been infinitely dif¬ 
ferent. His action here, just like the ruffian BiH ’$ 9 
was instinctive, beyond his control. Just this slight 
thing, this frail link that joined Kells to his past 
and better life, immeasurably inspirited Joan and 
outlined the difficult game she had to play. 

“You’re a very gallant robber,” she said. 

He appeared not to hear that or to note it; he 
was eying her up and down; and he moved closer, 
perhaps to estimate her height compared to his own. 

“I didn’t know you were so tall. You’re above 
my shoulder.” 

“Yes, I’m very lanky.” 

“Lanky! Why you’re not that. You’ve a splen¬ 
did figure—tall, supple, strong; you’re like a Ne& 
Perce girl I knew once. . . . You’re a beautiful thing. 
Didn’t you know that?” 

“Not particularly. My friends don't dare flatter 
me. I suppose I’ll have to stand it from you. But 
I didn’t expect compliments from Jack Kells of the 
Border Legion.” 


THE BORDER LEGION 


''‘Border Legion? Where’d you hear that name?' 

“I didn’t hear it. I made it up—thought of it 
myself.” 

4 ‘Well, you’ve invented something I’ll use. . . . 
And what’s your name—your first name? I heard 
Roberts use it?” 

Joan felt a cold contraction of all her internal be¬ 
ing, but outwardly she never so much as flicked an 
eyelash. “My name’s Joan.” 

“Joan!” He placed heavy, compelling hands on 
her shoulders and turned her squarely toward him. 

Again she felt his gaze, strangely, like the reflec¬ 
tion of sunlight from ice. She had to look at him. 
This was her supreme test. For hours she had pre¬ 
pared for it, steeled herself, wrought upon all that 
was sensitive in her; and now she prayed, and 
swiftly looked up into his eyes. They were windows 
of a gray hell. And she gazed into that naked 
abyss, at that dark, uncovered soul, with only the 
timid anxiety and fear and the unconsciousness of 
an innocent, ignorant girl. 

“Joan! You know why I brought you here?” 

“Yes, of course; you told me,” she replied, 
steadily. “You want to ransom me for gold. . . . 
And I’m afraid you’ll have to take me home without 
getting any.” 

“You know what I mean to do to you,” he went 
on, thickly. 

“Do to me?” she echoed, and she never quivered 
a muscle. “You—you didn’t say. ... I haven’t 
thought. ... But you won’t hurt me, will you? 
It’s not my fault if there’s no gold to ransom 
me.” 


41 


THE BORDER LEGION 


He shook her. His face changed, grew darker, 
“You know what I mean.” 

“I don’t.” With some show of spirit she essayed 
to slip out of his grasp. He held her the tighter, 

“How old are you?” 

It was only in her height and development that 
Joan looked anywhere near her age. Often she had 
been taken for a very young girl. 

“I’m seventeen,” she replied. This was not the 
truth. It was a lie that did not falter on lips which 
had scorned falsehood. 

“Seventeen!” he ejaculated in amaze. “Honest- 
ly, now?” 

She lifted her chin scornfully and remained silent, 

“Well, I thought you were a woman. I took 
you to be twenty-five—at least twenty-two. Seven- 
teen, with that shape! You’re only a girl—a kid. 
You don’t know anything.” 

Then he released her, almost with violence, as i! 
angered at her or himself, and he turned away to 
the horses. Joan walked toward the little cabin. 
The strain of that encounter left her weak, but once 
from under his eyes, certain that she had carried 
her point, she quickly regained her poise. There 
might be, probably would be, infinitely more trying 
ordeals for her to meet than this one had been; she 
realized, however, that never again would she be 
so near betrayal of terror and knowledge and self. 

The scene of her isolation had a curious fascina¬ 
tion for her. Something—and she shuddered—was 
to happen to her here in this lonely, silent gorge. 
There were some flat stones made into a rude seat 
under the balsam-tree, and a swift, yard-wide 
42 


THE BORDER LEGION 


stream of clear water ran by. Observing something 
white against the tree, Joan went closer. A card, the 
ace of hearts, had been pinned to the bark by a 
small cluster of bullet-holes, every one of which 
touched the red heart, and one of them had oblit¬ 
erated it. Below the circle of bullet-holes, scrawled 
in rude letters with a lead-pencil, was the name 
4 * Gulden.' ’ How little, a few nights back, when Jim 
Cleve had menaced Joan with the names of Kells and 
Gulden, had she imagined they were actual men she 
was to meet and fear! And here she was the prisoner 
of one of them. She would ask Kells who and what 
this Gulden was. The log cabin was merely a shed, 
without fireplace or window, and the floor was a 
covering of balsam boughs, long dried out and with¬ 
ered. A dim trail led away from it down the canon. 
If Joan was any judge of trails, this one had not seen 
the imprint of a horse track for many months. 
Kells had indeed brought her to a hiding-place, one 
of those, perhaps, that camp gossip said was inac¬ 
cessible to any save a border hawk. Joan knew that 
only an Indian could follow the tortuous and rocky 
trail by which Kells had brought her in. She would 
never be tracked there by her own people. 

The long ride had left her hot, dusty, scratched, 
with tangled hair and tom habit. She went over to 
her saddle, which Kells had removed from her pony, 
and, opening the saddle-bag, she took inventory of 
her possessions. They were few enough, but now, 
in view of an unexpected and enforced sojourn in the 
wilds, beyond all calculation of value. And they in¬ 
cluded towel, soap, tooth-brush, mirror and comb and 
brush, a red scarf, and gloves. It occurred to her 
4 43 


THE BORDER LEGION 


how seldom she carried that bag on her saddle, and, 
thinking back, referred the fact to accident, and then 
with honest amusement owned that the motive 
might have been also a little vanity. Taking the 
bag, she went to a flat stone by the brook and, roll¬ 
ing up her sleeves, proceeded to improve her ap¬ 
pearance. With deft fingers she rebraided her hair 
and arranged it as she had worn it when only sixteen. 
Then, resolutely, she got up and crossed over to 
where Kells was unpacking. 

‘Til help you get supper,” she said. 

He was on his knees in the midst of a jumble of 
camp duffle that had been hastily thrown together. 
He looked up at her—from her shapely, strong, 
brown arms to the face she had rubbed rosy. 

“Say, but you’re a pretty girl!” 

He said it enthusiastically, in unstinted admira¬ 
tion, without the slightest subtlety or suggestion; and 
if he had been the devil himself it would have been 
no less a compliment, given spontaneously to youth 
and beauty. 

“I’m glad if it’s so, but please don’t tell me,” she 
rejoined, simply. 

Then with swift and business-like movements she 
set to helping him with the mess the inexperienced 
pack-horse had made of that particular pack. And 
when that was straightened out she began with the 
biscuit dough while he lighted a fire. It appeared 
to be her skill, rather than her willingness, that he 
yielded to. He said very little, but he looked at her 
often. And he had little periods of abstraction. 
The situation was novel, strange to him. Some¬ 
times Joan read his mind and sometimes he was an 
44 


THE BORDER LEGION 


enigma. But she divined when he was thinking 
what a picture she looked there, on her knees before 
the bread-pan, with flour on her arms; of the differ¬ 
ence a girl brought into any place; of how strange 
it seemed that this girl, instead of lying a limp and 
disheveled rag under a tree, weeping and praying 
for home, made the best of a bad situation and im¬ 
proved it wonderfully by being a thoroughbred. 

Presently they sat down, cross-legged, one on 
each side of the tarpaulin, and began the meal. 

That was the strangest supper Joan ever sat down 
to; it was like a dream where there was danger that 
tortured her; but she knew she was dreaming and 
would soon wake up. Kells was almost impercepti¬ 
bly changing. The amiability of his face seemed to 
have stiffened. The only time he addressed her was * 

when he offered to help her to more meat or bread 
or coffee. After the meal was finished he would not 
let her wash the pans and pots, and attended to 
that himself. 

Joan went to the seat by the tree, near the camp¬ 
fire. A purple twilight was shadowing the canon. 

Far above, on the bold peak the last warmth of the 
afterglow was fading. There was no wind, no 
sound, no movement. Joan wondered where Jim 
Cleve was then. They had often sat in the twilight. 

She felt an unreasonable resentment toward him, 
knowing she was to blame, but blaming him for her 
plight. Then suddenly she thought of her uncle, 
of home, of her kindly old aunt who always worried 
so about her. Indeed, there was cause to worry. 

She felt sorrier for them than for herself. And that 
broke her spirit momentarily. Forlorn, and with a 
45 


THE BORDER LEGION 


wave of sudden sorrow and dread and hopelessness, 
she dropped her head upon her knees and covered 
her face. Tears were a relief. She forgot Kells and 
the part she must play. But she remembered swift¬ 
ly—at the rude touch of his hand. 

'‘Here! Are you crying?” he asked, roughly. 

“Do you think I’m laughing?” Joan retorted. 
Her wet eyes, as she raised them, were proof enough, 

“Stop it.” 

“I can’t help—but cry—a little. I was th— 
thinking of home—of those who’ve been father and 
mother to me—since I was a baby. I wasn’t crying 
—for myself. But they—they’ll be so miserable. 
They loved me so.” 

“It won’t help matters to cry.” 

Joan stood up then, no longer sincere and forget¬ 
ful, but the girl with her deep and cunning game. 
She leaned close to him in the twilight. 

‘ ‘ Did you ever love any one ? Did you ever have 
a sister—a girl like me?” 

Kells stalked away into the gloom. 

Joan was left alone. She did not know whether 
to interpret his abstraction, his temper, and his action 
as favorable or not. Still she hoped and prayed they 
meant that he had some good in him. If she could 
only hide her terror, her abhorrence, her knowledge 
of him and his motive! She built up a bright camp* 
fire. There was an abundance of wood. She 
dreaded the darkness and the night. Besides, the 
air was growing chilly. So, arranging her saddle 
and blankets near the fire, she composed herself in 
a comfortable seat to await Kells’s return and de¬ 
velopments, J*- struck her forcibly that she had 
46 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Itost some of her fear of Kells and she did not 
know why. She ought to fear him more every 
hour — every minute. Presently she heard his 
step brushing the grass and then he emerged out 
of the gloom. He had a load of fire-wood on his 
shoulder. 

“Did you get over your grief?” he asked, glancing 
down upon her. 

“Yes,” she replied. 

Kells stooped for a red ember, with which he 
lighted his pipe, and then he seated himself a little 
back from the fire. The blaze threw a bright glare 
over him, and in it he looked neither formidable 
nor vicious nor ruthless. He asked her where she 
was bom, and upon receiving an answer he followed 
that up with another question. And he kept this 
up until Joan divined that he was not so much in¬ 
terested in what he apparently wished to learn as 
he was in her presence, her voice, her personality. 
She sensed in him loneliness, hunger for the sound 
of a voice. She had heard her uncle speak of the 
„ loneliness of lonely camp-fires and how all men 
working or hiding or lost in the wilderness would see 
sweet faces in the embers and be haunted by soft 
voices. After all, Kells was human. And she talked 
as never before in her life, brightly, willingly, elo¬ 
quently, telling the facts of her eventful youth and 
girlhood—the sorrow and the joy and some of the 
dreams—up to the time she had come to Camp 
Hoadley. 

“Did you leave any sweethearts over there at 
Hoadley?” he asked, after a silence. 

“Yes.” 


47 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“How many?” 

“A whole campful,” she replied, with a laugh, 
“but admirers is a better name for them.” 

“Then there’s no one fellow?” 

“Hardly—yet.” 

“How would you like being kept here in this lone¬ 
some place for—well, say for ever?” 

“I wouldn’t like that,” replied Joan. “I’d like 
this—camping out like this now—if my folks only 
knew I am alive and well and safe. I love lonely, 
dreamy places. I’ve dreamed of being in just such 
a one as this. It seems so far away here—so shut 
in by the walls and the blackness. So silent and 
sweet! I love the stars. They speak to me. And 
the wind in the spruces. Hear it. . . . Very low, 
mournful! That whispers to me—to-morrow I’d 
like it here if I had no worry. I’ve never grown up 
yet. I explore and climb trees and hunt for little 
birds and rabbits—young things just born, all fuzzy 
and sweet, frightened, piping or squealing for their 
mothers. But I won’t touch one for worlds. I 
simply can’t hurt anything. I can’t spur my horse 
or beat him. Oh, I hate pain!” 

“You’re a strange girl to live out here on this bor¬ 
der,” he said. 

“I’m no different from other girls. You don’t 
know girls.” 

“I knew one pretty well. She put a rope round 
my neck,” he replied, grimly. 

“A rope!” 

“Yes, I mean a halter, a hangman’s noose. But 
I balked her!” 

“Oh! ... A good girl?” 

48 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Badf Bad to the core of her black heart — 1 
bad as I am!” he exclaimed, with fierce, low pas¬ 
sion. 

Joan trembled. The man, in an instant, seemed 
transformed, somber as death. She could not look 
at him, but she must keep on talking. 

“Bad? You don’t seem bad to me—only violent, 
perhaps, or wild. . . . Tell me about yourself.” 

She had stirred him. His neglected pipe fell from 
his hand. In the gloom of the camp-fire he must 
have seen faces or ghosts of his past. 

“Why not?” he queried, strangely. “Why not 
do what’s been impossible for years—open my lips? 
It ’ll not matter—to a girl who can never tell!... Have 
I forgotten? God!—I have not! Listen, so that 
you’ll know I’m bad. My name’s not Kells. I was 
bom in the East, and went to school there till I ran 
away. I was young, ambitious, wild. I stole. I ran 
away — came West in ’fifty-one to the gold-fields 
in California. There I became a prospector, miner, 
gambler, robber—and road-agent. I had evil in 
me, as all men have, and those wild years brought 
it out. I had no chance. Evil and gold and blood— 
they are one and the same thing. I committed 
every crime till no place, bad as it might be, was 
safe for me. Driven and hunted and shot and 
starved—almost hanged!... And now I’m—Kells! of 
that outcast crew you named ‘the Border Legion’! 
Every black crime but one—the blackest—and that 
haunting me, itching my hands to-night!” 

“Oh, you speak so—so dreadfully!” cried Joan. 
“What can I say? I’m sorry for you. I don’t be¬ 
lieve it all. What—what black crime haunts you? 

49 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Oh! what could be possible to-night—here in this 
lonely canon—with only me?” 

Dark and terrible the man arose. 

‘ ‘ Girl, ’ ’ he said, hoarsely. ‘ ‘ To-night—to-night—■ 
I’ll. . . . What have you done to me? One more day 
—and I’ll be mad to do right by you—instead of 
wrong. . . . Do you understand that?” 

Joan leaned forward in the camp-fire light with 
outstretched hands and quivering lips, as overcome 
by his halting confession of one last remnant of 
honor as she was by the dark hint of his passion. 

'‘No—no—I don’t understand—nor believe!” she 
cried. “But you frighten me—so! I am all—all 
alone with you here. You said I’d be safe. Don’s 
—don’t—” 

Her voice broke then and she sank back exhausted 
in her seat. Probably Kells had heard only the first 
words of her appeal, for he took to striding back and 
forth in the circle of the camp-fire light. The scab¬ 
bard with the big gun swung against his leg. It 
grew to be a dark and monstrous thing in Joan’s 
sight. A marvelous intuition bom of that hour 
warned her of Kells’s subjection to the beast in him, 
even while, with all the manhood left to him, he 
still battled against it. Her girlish sweetness and 
innocence had availed nothing, except mock him 
with the ghost of dead memories. He could not be 
won or foiled. She must get her hands on that gun 
—kill him—or—! The alternative was death for 
herself. And she leaned there, slowly gathering all 
the unconquerable and unquenchable forces of a 
woman’s nature, waiting, to make one desperate, 
supreme, and final effort. 


CHAPTER V 


K ELLS strode there, a black, silent shadow 
plodding with bent head, as if all about and 
above him were demons and furies. 

Joan’s perceptions of him, of the night, of the in¬ 
animate and impondering black walls, and of her¬ 
self, were exquisitely and abnormally keen. She 
saw him there, bowed under his burden, gloomy and 
wroth and sick with himself because the man in 
him despised the coward. Men of his stamp were 
seldom or never cowards. Their life did not breed 
cowardice or baseness. Joan knew the burning in 
her breast—that thing which inflamed and swept 
through her like a wind of fire—was hate. Yet her 
heart held a grain of pity for him. She measured 
his forbearance, his struggle, against the monstrous 
cruelty and passion engendered by a wild life among 
wild men at a wild time. And, considering his op¬ 
portunities of the long hours and lonely miles, she 
was grateful, and did not in the least underestimate 
what it cost him, how different from Bill or Hallo¬ 
way he had been. But all this was nothing, and her 
thinking of it useless, unless he conquered himself. 
She only waited, holding on to that steel-like con¬ 
trol of her nerves, motionless and silent. 

She leaned back against her saddle, a blanket cov- 
Si 


THE BORDER LEGION 


ering her, with wide-open eyes, and despite the 
presence of that stalking figure and the fact of her 
mind being locked round one terrible and inevitable 
thought, she saw the changing beautiful glow of the 
fire-logs and the cold, pitiless stars and the muster¬ 
ing shadows under the walls. She heard, too, the 1 
low rising sigh of the wind in the balsam and the 
silvery tinkle of the brook, and sounds only im¬ 
agined or nameless. Yet a stem and insupportable 
silence weighed her down. This dark canon seemed 
at the ends of the earth. She felt encompassed by 
illimitable and stupendous upflung mountains, in¬ 
sulated in a vast, dark, silent tomb. 

Kells suddenly came to her, treading noiselessly, 
and he leaned over her. His visage was a dark 
blur, but the posture of him was that of a wolf about 
to spring. Lower he leaned—slowly—and yet lower. 
Joan saw the heavy gun swing away from his leg: 
she saw it black and clear against the blaze; a cold, 
blue light glinted from its handle. And then Kells 
was near enough for her to see his face and his eyes 
that were but shadows of flames. She gazed up at 
him steadily, open-eyed, with no fear or shrinking. 
His breathing was quick and loud. He looked down 
at her for an endless moment, then, straightening his 
bent form, he resumed his walk to and fro. 

After that for Joan time might have consisted of 
moments or hours, each of which was marked by 
Kells looming over her. He appeared to approach 
her from all sides; he found her wide-eyed, sleepless; 
his shadowy glance gloated over her lithe, slender 
shape; and then he strode away into the gloom. 
Sometimes she could no longer hear his steps and 


THE BORDER LEGION 


then she was quiveringly alert, listening, fearful 
that he might creep upon her like a panther. At 
times he kept the camp-fire blazing brightly; at 
others he let it die down. And these dark intervals 
were frightful for her. The night seemed treacher¬ 
ous, in league with her foe. It was endless. She 
prayed for dawn—yet with a blank hopelessness for 
what the day might bring. Could she hold out 
through more interminable hours? Would she not 
break from sheer strain ? There were moments 
when she wavered and shook like a leaf in the 
wind, when the beating of her heart was audible, 
when a child could have seen her distress. There 
were other moments when all was ugly, unreal, im¬ 
possible like things in a nightmare. But when 
Kells was near or approached to look at her, like 
a cat returned to watch a captive mouse, she was 
again strong, waiting, with ever a strange and cold 
sense of the nearness of that swinging gun. Late 
in the night she missed him, for how long she had 
no idea. She had less trust in his absence than his 
presence. The nearer he came to her the stronger 
she grew and the clearer of purpose. At last the 
black void of canon lost its blackness and turned 
to gray. Dawn was at hand. The horrible end¬ 
less night, in which she had aged from girl to woman, 
had passed. Joan had never closed her eyes a single 
instant. 

When day broke she got up. The long hours in 
which she had rested motionlessly had left her 
muscles cramped and dead. She began to walk off 
the feeling. Kells had just stirred from his blanket 
under the balsam-tree. His face was dark, haggard*, 
53 


THE BORDER LEGION 


lined. She saw him go down to the brook and 
plunge his hands into the water and bathe his face 
with a kind of fury. Then he went up to the 
smoldering fire. There was a gloom, a somber^ 
ness, a hardness about him that had not been 
noticeable the day before. 

Joan found the water cold as ice, soothing to the 
burn beneath her skin. She walked away then, 
aware that Kells did not appear to care, and went 
up to where the brook brawled from under the cliff. 
This was a hundred paces from camp, though in 
plain sight. Joan looked round for her horse, but 
he was not to be seen. She decided to slip away 
the first opportunity that offered, and on foot or 
horseback, any way, to get out of Kells’s clutches if 
she had to wander, lost in the mountains, till she 
starved. Possibly the day might be endurable, bui 
another night would drive her crazy. She sat on a 
ledge, planning and brooding, till she was startled by 
a call from Kells. Then slowly she retraced her 
steps. 

“Don’t you want to eat?” he asked, 

“I’m not hungry,” she replied. 

“Well, eat anyhow—if it chokes you,” he orderedo 

Joan seated herself while he placed food and drink 
before her. She did not look at him and did not feel 
his gaze upon her. Far asunder as they had been 
yesterday the distance between them to-day was 
incalculably greater. She ate as much as she could 
swallow and pushed the rest away. Leaving the 
camp-fire, she began walking again, here and there, 
aimlessly, scarcely seeing what she looked at. There 
was a shadow over her, an impending portent of 


THE BORDER LEGION 


catastrophe, a moment standing dark and sharp out 
of the age-long hour. She leaned against the balsam 
and then she rested in the stone seat, and then she 
had to walk again. It might have been long, that 
time; she never knew how long or short. There 
came a strange flagging, sinking of her spirit, accom¬ 
panied by vibrating, restless, uncontrollable muscular 
activity. Her nerves were on the verge of collapse. 

It was then that a call from Kells, clear and ring¬ 
ing, thrilled all the weakness from her in a flash, 
and left her strung and cold. She saw him coming. 
His face looked amiable again, bright against what 
seemed a vague and veiled background. Like a 
mountaineer he strode. And she looked into his 
strange, gray glance to see unmasked the ruthless 
power, the leaping devil, the ungovernable passion 
she had sensed in him. 

He grasped her arm and with a single pull swung 
her to him. “ You've got to pay that ransom! ” 

He handled her as if he thought she resisted, but 
she was unresisting. She hung her head to hide her 
eyes. Then he placed an arm round her shoulders 
and half led, half dragged her toward the cabin. 

Joan saw with startling distinctness the bits of bal¬ 
sam and pine at her feet and pale pink daisies in the 
grass, and then the dry withered boughs. She was 
in the cabin. 

“Girl! . . . I’m hungry—for you!” he breathed, 
hoarsely. And turning her toward him, he embraced 
her, as if his nature was savage and he had to use 
a savage force. 

If Joan struggled at all, it was only slightly, when 
she writhed and slipped, like a snake, to get her arm 
55 


THE BORDER LEGION 

under his as it clasped her neck. Then she let her¬ 
self go. He crushed her to him. He bent her back¬ 
ward—tilted her face with hard and eager hand. 
Like a madman, with hot working lips, he kissed her. 
She felt blinded—scorched. But her purpose was 
as swift and sure and wonderful as his passion was 
wild. The first reach of her groping hand found his 
gun-belt. Swift as light her hand slipped down. 
Her fingers touched the cold gun—grasped with 
thrill on thrill—slipped farther down, strong and 
sure to raise the hammer. Then with a leaping, 
strung intensity that matched his own she drew the 
gun. She raised it while her eyes were shut. She 
lay passive under his kisses—the devouring kisses 
of one whose manhood had been denied the sweet¬ 
ness, the glory, the fire, the life of woman’s lips. 
It was a moment in which she met his primitive fury 
of possession with a woman’s primitive fury of pro¬ 
fanation. She pressed the gun against his side and 
pulled the trigger. 

A thundering, muffled, hollow boom! The odor o! 
burned powder stung her nostrils. Kells’s hold on 
her tightened convulsively, loosened with strange, 
lessening power. She swayed back free of him, still 
with tight-shut eyes. A horrible cry escaped him— 
a cry of mortal agony. It wrenched her. And she 
looked to see him staggering amazed, stricken, at bay, 
like a wolf caught in cruel steel jaws. His hands 
came away from both sides, dripping with blood. 
They shook till the crimson drops spattered on the 
Wall, on the boughs. Then he seemed to realize 
and he clutched at her with these bloody hands. 

“God Almighty!” he panted. “You shot me* 
56 


THE BORDER LEGION 


. e . You—you girl! . . . You fooled me! . v w You 
knew—all the time!... You she-cat! . . . Givw me—- 
that gun!” 

“Kells, get back! I’ll kill you!” she cried. The 
big gun, outstretched between them, began to waver. 

Kells did not see the gun. In his madness he tried 
to move, to reach her, but he could not; he was sink¬ 
ing. His legs sagged under him, let him down to 
his knees, and but for the wall he would have fallen. 
Then a change transformed him. The black, turgid, 
convulsed face grew white and ghastly, with beads 
of clammy sweat and lines of torture. His strange 
eyes showed swiftly passing thought—wonder, fear, 
scorn—even admiration. 

“Joan, you’ve done—for me!*'’ he gasped. “You’ve 
broken my back! . . . It’ll kill me! Oh! the pain— 
the pain! And I can’t stand pain! You—you girl! 
You innocent seventeen-year-old girl! You that 
couldn’t hurt any creature! You so tender—so gen¬ 
tle!... Bah! you fooled me. The cunning of a wom¬ 
an! I ought—to know. A good woman’s—more 
terrible than a—bad woman. ... But I deserved this. 
Once I used—to be. . . . Only, the torture! . . . Why 
didn’t you—kill me outright? . . . Joan—Randle— 
watch me—die! Since I had—to die—by rope or 
bullet—I’m glad you—you—did for me. . . . Man or 
beast—I believe—I loved you!” 

Joan dropped the gun and sank beside him, help¬ 
less, horror-stricken, wringing her hands. She want¬ 
ed to tell him she was sorry, that he drove her to it, 
that he must let her pray for him. But she could 
not speak. Her tongue clove to the roof of her 
mouth and she seemed strangling. 

57 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Another change, slower and more subtle, passed 
over Kells. He did not see Joan. He forgot her. 
The white shaded out of his face, leaving a gray like 
that of his somber eyes. Spirit, sense, life, • were 
fading from him. The quivering of a racked body 
ceased. And all that seemed left was a lonely soul 
groping on the verge of the dim borderland between 
life and death. Presently his shoulders slipped along 
the wall and he fell, to lie limp and motionless before 
Joan 0 Then she fainted* 


CHAPTER VI 


W HEN Joan returned to consciousness she was 
lying half outside the opening of the cabin and 
above her was a drift of blue gun-smoke, slowly 
floating upward. Almost as swiftly as perception of 
that smoke came a shuddering memory. She lay 
still, listening. She did not hear a sound except the 
tinkle and babble and gentle rush of the brook, 
Kells was dead, then. And overmastering the hor¬ 
ror of her act was a relief, a freedom, a lifting of her 
soul out of dark dread, a something that whispered 
justification of the fatal deed. 

She got up and, avoiding to look within the cabin, 
walked away. The sun was almost at the zenith. 
Where had the morning hours gone ? 

“I must get away/’ she said, suddenly. The 
thought quickened her. Down the canon the horses 
were grazing. She hurried along the trail, trying 
to decide whether to follow this dim old trail or 
endeavor to get out the way she had been brought 
in. She decided upon the latter. If she traveled 
slowly, and watched for familiar landmarks, things 
she had seen once, and hunted carefully for the 
tracks, she believed she might be successful. She 
had the courage to try. Then she caught her pony 
and led him back to camp. 

5 5Q 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“What shall I take?” she pondered. She decided 
upon very little—a blanket, a sack of bread and meat* 
and a canteen of water. She might need a weapon, 
also. There was only one, the gun with which she 
had killed Kells. It seemed utterly impossible to 
touch that hateful thing. But now that she had 
liberated herself, and at such cost, she must not 
yield to sentiment. Resolutely she started for the 
cabin, but when she reached it her steps were drag¬ 
ging. The long, dull-blue gun lay where she had 
dropped it. And out of the tail of averted eyes she 
saw a huddled shape along the wall. It was a sick¬ 
ening moment when she reached a shaking hand for 
the gun. And at that instant a low moan trans 
fixed her. 

She seemed frozen rigid. Was the place already 
haunted? Her heart swelled in her throat and a 
dimness came before her eyes. But another moat 
brought swift realization—Kells was alive. And the 
cold clamping sickness, the strangle in her throat, 
all the feelings of terror, changed and were lost in 
a flood of instinctive joy. He was not dead. She 
had not killed him. She did not have blood on her 
hands. She was not a murderer. 

She whirled to look at him. There he lay, ghastly 
as a corpse. And all her woman’s gladness fled. 
But there was compassion left to her, and, forgetting 
all else, she knelt beside him. He was as cold as 
stone. She felt no stir, no beat of pulse in temple 
or wrist. Then she placed her ear against his breast. 
His heart beat weakly. 

“He’s alive,’’ she whispered. “But—he’s dying 
o. . What shall I do?’’ 


60 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Many thoughts flashed across her mind. She 
could not help him now; he would be dead soon; 
she did not need to wait there beside him; there 
was a risk of some of his comrades riding into that 
rendezvous. Suppose his back was not broken, after 
all! Suppose she stopped the flow of blood, tended 
him, nursed him, saved his life? For if there were 
one chance of his living, which she doubted, it must 
be through her. Would he not be the same savage 
the hour he was well and strong again? What dif¬ 
ference could she make in such a nature? The man 
was evil. He could not conquer evil. She had 
been witness to that. He had driven Roberts to 
draw and had killed him. No doubt he had delib¬ 
erately and coldly murdered the two ruffians, Bill 
and Hallo way, just so he could be free of their 
glances at her and be alone with her. He deserved 
to die there like a dog. 

What Joan Randle did was surely a woman’s 
choice. Carefully she rolled Kells over. The back 
of his vest and shirt was wet with blood. She got 
up to find a knife, towel, and water. As she returned 
to the cabin he moaned again. 

Joan had dressed many a wound. She was not 
afraid of blood. The difference here was that she 
had shed it. She felt sick, but her hands were 
firm as she cut open the vest and shirt, rolled them 
aside, and bathed his back. The big bullet had 
made a gaping wound, having apparently gone 
through the small of the back. The blood still 
flowed. She could not tell whether or not Kells’s 
spine was broken, but she believed that the bullet 
had gone between bone and muscle, or had glanced. 

6j 


THE BORDER LEGION 


There was a blue welt just over his spine, in line 
with the course of the wound. She tore her scarf 
into strips and used it for compresses and bandages. 
Then she laid him back upon a saddle-blanket. She 
had done all that was possible for the present, and 
it gave her a strange sense of comfort. She even 
prayed for his life and, if that must go, for his soul. 
Then she got up. He was unconscious, white, death¬ 
like. It seemed that his torture, his near approach 
to death, had robbed his face of ferocity, of ruth¬ 
lessness, and of that strange amiable expression. 
But then, his eyes, those furnace-windows, were 
closed. 

Joan waited for the end to come. The afternoon 
passed and she did not leave the cabin. It was pos¬ 
sible that he might come to and want water. She 
had once ministered to a miner who had been fatally 
crushed in an avalanche; and never could she for¬ 
get his husky call for water and the gratitude in his 
eyes. 

Sunset, twilight, and night fell upon the canon. 
And she began to feel solitude as something tangible. 
Bringing saddle and blankets into the cabin, she 
made a bed just inside, and, facing the opening and 
the stars, she lay down to rest, if not to sleep. The 
darkness did not keep her from seeing the prostrate 
figure of Kells. He lay there as silent as if he were 
already dead. She was exhausted, weary for sleep, 
and unstrung. In the night her courage fled and 
she was frightened at shadows. The murmuring of 
insects seemed augmented into a roar; the mourn of 
wolf and scream of cougar made her start; the rising 
wind moaned like a lost spirit. Dark fancies beset 

62 


THE BORDER LEGION 

her. Troop on troop of specters moved out of the 
black night, assembling there, waiting for Kells to 
join them. She thought she was riding homeward 
over the back trail, sure of her way, remembering 
every rod of that rough travel, until she got out of 
the mountains, only to be turned back by dead men. 
Then fancy and dream, and all the haunted gloom 
of canon and cabin, seemed slowly to merge into one 
immense blackness. 

The sun, rimming the east wall, shining into Joan’s 
face, awakened her. She had slept hours. She felt 
rested, stronger. Like the night, something dark 
had passed away from her. It did not seem strange 
to her that she should feel that Kells still lived. She 
knew it. And examination proved her right. In 
him there had been no change except that he had 
ceased to bleed. There was just a flickering of life 
in him, manifest only in his slow, faint heart-beats. 

Joan spent most of that day in sitting beside Kells. 
The whole day seemed only an hour. Sometimes 
she would look down the canon trail, half expecting 
to see horsemen riding up. If any of Kells’s com¬ 
rades happened to come, what could she tell them? 
They would be as bad as he, without that one trait 
which had kept him human for a day. Joan pon¬ 
dered upon this. It would never do to let them 
suspect she had shot Kells. So, carefully cleaning 
the gun, she reloaded it. If any men came, she 
would tell them that Bill had done the shooting. 

Kells lingered. Joan began to feel that he would 
live, though everything indicated the contrary. 
Her intelligence told her he would die, and her 
63 


THE BORDER LEGION 


feeling said he would not. At times she lifted his 
head and got water into his mouth with a spoon. 
When she did this he would moan. That night, 
during the hours she lay awake, she gathered cour¬ 
age out of the very solitude and loneliness. She 
had nothing to fear, unless some one came to the 
canon. The next day in no wise differed from the 
preceding. And then there came the third day, 
with no change in Kells till near evening, when she 
thought he was returning to consciousness. But she 
must have been mistaken. For hours she watched 
patiently. He might return to consciousness just 
before the end, and want to speak, to send a mes¬ 
sage, to ask a prayer, to feel a human hand at the 
last. 

That night the crescent moon hung over the canon. 
In the faint light Joan could see the blanched face 
of Kells, strange and sad, no longer seeming evil 
The time came when his lips stirred. He tried to 
talk. She moistened his lips and gave him to drink. 
He murmured incoherently, sank again into a stupor, 
to rouse once more and babble like a madman. 
Then he lay quietly for long—so long that sleep 
was claiming Joan. Suddenly he startled her by 
calling very faintly but distinctly: ‘‘Water! Waterf ’ 

Joan bent over him, lifting his head, helping him 
to drink. She could see his eyes, like dark holes in 
something white. 

“Is—that—you—mother?” he whispered. 

“Yes,” replied Joan. 

He sank immediately into another stupor or sleep, 
from which he did not rouse. That whisper of his 
—mother—touched Joan. Bad men had mothers 
64 


THE BORDER LEGION 


just the same as any other kind of men. Even this 
Kells had a mother. He was still a young man. 
He had been youth, boy, child, baby. Some mother 
had loved him, cradled him, kissed his rosy baby 
hands, watched him grow with pride and glory, built 
castles in her dreams of his manhood, and perhaps 
prayed for him still, trusting he was strong and 
honored among men. And here he lay, a shattered 
wreck, dying for a wicked act, the last of many 
crimes. It was a tragedy. It made Joan think of 
the hard lot of mothers, and then of this unsettled 
Western wild, where men flocked in packs like wolves, 
and spilled blood like water, and held life nothing. 

Joan sought her rest and soon slept. In the morn¬ 
ing she did not at once go to Kells. Somehow she 
dreaded finding him conscious, almost as much as 
she dreaded the thought of finding him dead. When 
she did bend over him he was awake, and at sight 
of her he showed a faint amaze. 

“Joan!” he whispered. 

“Yes,” she replied. 

“Are you—with me still?” 

“Of course. I couldn’t leave you.” 

The pale eyes shadowed strangely, darkly. “I’m 
alive yet. And you stayed ! . . . Was it yesterday—■ 
you threw my gun—on me?” 

“No. Four days ago.” 

“Four! Is my back broken?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s a terrible 
^ound. I—I did all I could.” 

“You tried to kill me—then tried to save me?” 

She was silent to that. 

“You’re good—and you’ve been noble,” he said. 

65 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“But I wish—you’d been only bad. Then I’d curse 
you—and strangle you—presently.” 

“Perhaps you had best be quiet,” replied Joan. 

“No. I’ve been shot before. I’ll get over this— 
if my back’s not broken. How can we tell?” 

“I’ve no idea.” 

“Lift me up.” 

“But you might open your wound,” protested 
Joan. 

“Lift me up!” The force of the man spoke even 
in his low wdiisper. 

“But why—why?” asked Joan. 

“I want to see—if I can sit up. If I can’t—give 
me my gun.” 

“I won’t let you have it,” replied Joan. Then she 
slipped her arms under his and, carefully raising him 
to a sitting posture, released her hold. 

“I’m—a—rank coward—about pain,” he gasped, 
with thick drops standing out on his white face. 
“I—can’t—stand it.” 

But tortured or not, he sat up alone, and even had 
the will to bend his back. Then with a groan he 
fainted and fell into Joan’s arms. She laid him 
down and worked over him for some time before 
she could bring him to. Then he was wan, suffering; 
speechless. But she believed he would live and told 
him so. He received that with a strange smile. 
Later, when she came to him with a broth, he drank 
it gratefully. 

“I’ll beat this out,” he said, weakly. “I’ll re¬ 
cover. My back’s not broken. I’ll get well. Now 
you bring water and food in here—then you go.” 

“Go?” she echoed. 


66 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Yes. Don’t go down the canon. You’d be 
worse off. . . . Take the back trail. You’ve a chance 
to get out. . . . Go!” 

“Leave you here? So weak you can’t lift a cup! 
I won’t.” 

“I’d rather you did.” 

“Why?” 

“Because in a few days I’ll begin to mend. Then 
I’ll grow like—myself. ... I think—I’m afraid I 
loved you. ... It could only be hell for you. Go 
now, before it’s too late! ... If you stay—till I’m 
well—I’ll never let you go!” 

“Kells, I believe it would be cowardly for me to 
leave you here alone,” she replied, earnestly. “You 
can’t help yourself. You’d die.” 

“All the better. But I won’t die. I’m hard to 
kill. Go, I tell you.” 

She shook her head. “This is bad for you— 
arguing. You’re excited. Please be quiet.” 

“Joan Randle, if you stay—I’ll halter you—keep 
you naked in a cave—curse you—beat you—murder 
you! Oh, it’s in me! . . . Go, I tell you!” 

“You’re out of your head. Once for all—no!” 
she replied, firmly. 

“ You — you — ” His voice failed in a terrible 
whisper. 

In the succeeding days Kells did not often speak. 
His recovery was slow—a matter of doubt. Noth¬ 
ing was any plainer than the fact that if Joan had 
left him he would not have lived long. She knew 
it. And he knew it. When he was awake, and she 
came to him, a mournful and beautiful smile lit his 
67 


THE BORDER LEGION 


eyes. The sight of her apparently hurt him and 
uplifted him. But he slept twenty hours out of 
every day, and while he slept he did not need Joan. 

She came to know the meaning of solitude. There 
were days when she did not hear the sound of her 
own voice. A habit of silence, one of the significant 
forces of solitude, had grown upon her. Daily she 
thought less and felt more. For hours she did 
nothing. When she roused herself, compelled her¬ 
self to think of these encompassing peaks of the lone¬ 
ly canon walls, the stately trees, all those eternally 
silent and changeless features of her solitude, she 
hated them with a blind and unreasoning passion. 
She hated them because she was losing her love for 
them, because they were becoming a part of her, 
because they were fixed and content and passionless. 
She liked to sit in the sun, feel its warmth, see its 
brightness; and sometimes she almost forgot to go 
back to her patient. She fought at times against an 
insidious change—a growing older—a going back¬ 
ward; at other times she drifted through hours that 
seemed quiet and golden, in which nothing hap¬ 
pened. And by and by when she realized that 
the drifting hours were gradually swallowing up the 
restless and active hours, then, strangely, she remem¬ 
bered Jim Cleve. Memory of him came to save her. 
She dreamed of him during the long, lonely, solemn 
days, and in the dark, silent climax of unbearable 
solitude—the night. She remembered his kisses, for¬ 
got her anger and shame, accepted the sweetness of 
their meaning, and so in the interminable hours of 
her solitude she dreamed herself into love for 
him. 


58 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan kept some record of days, until three weeks 
or thereabout passed, and then she lost track of 
time. It dragged along, yet, looked at as the past, 
it seemed to have sped swiftly. The change in her, 
the growing old, the revelation and responsibility of 
self, as a woman, made this experience appear to 
have extended over months. 

Kells slowly became convalescent and then he had 
a relapse. Something happened, the nature of which 
Joan could not tell, and he almost died. There were 
days when his life hung in the balance, when he 
could not talk; and then came a perceptible turn for 
the better. 

The store of provisions grew low, and Joan began 
to face another serious situation. Deer and rabbit 
were plentiful in the canon, but she could not kill 
one with a revolver. She thought she would be 
forced to sacrifice one of the horses. The fact that 
Kells suddenly showed a craving for meat brought 
this aspect of the situation to a climax. And that 
very morning while Joan was pondering the matter 
she saw a number of horsemen riding up the canon 
toward the cabin. At the moment she was relieved, 
and experienced nothing of the dread she had for¬ 
merly felt while anticipating this very event. 

“Kells,” she said, quickly, “there are men riding 
up the trail.” 

“Good!” he exclaimed, weakly, with a light on his 
drawn face. “They’ve been long in—getting here. 
How many?” 

Joan counted them—five riders, and several pack* 
animals. 

“Yes. It’s Gulden.” 


60 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Gulden!” cried Joan, with a start. 

Her exclamation and tone made Kells regard her 
attentively. 

“You’ve heard of him? He’s the toughest nut— 
on this border. ... I never saw his like. You won’t 
be safe. I’m so helpless. . . . What to say—to tell 
him!. . . Joan, if I should happen to croak—you want 
to get away quick—or shoot yourself.” 

How strange to hear this bandit warn her of peril 
the like of which she had encountered through him! 
Joan secured the gun and hid it in a niche between 
the logs. Then she looked out again. 

The riders were close at hand now. The fore¬ 
most one, a man of , Herculean build, jumped his 
mount across the brook, and leaped off while he 
hauled the horse to a stop. The second rider came 
close behind him; the others approached leisurely, 
with the gait of the pack-animals. 

“Ho, Kells!” called the big man. His voice had 
a loud, bold, sonorous kind of ring. 

“Reckon he’s here somewheres,” said the other 
man, presently. 

“Sure. I seen his hoss. Jack ain’t goin’ to be 
far from thet hoss.” 

Then both of them approached the cabin. Joan 
had never before seen two such striking, vicious- 
looking, awesome men. The one was huge—so wide 
and heavy and deep-set that he looked short—and 
he resembled a gorilla. The other was tall, slim, 
with a face as red as flame, and an expression of 
fierce keenness. He was stoop-shouldered, yet he 
held his head erect in a manner that suggested a, 
wolf scenting blood. 


70 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Some one here, Pearce,” boomed the big man. 

“Why, Gul, if it ain’t a girl!” 

Joan moved out of the shadow of the wall of the 
cabin, and she pointed to the prostrate figure on the 
blankets. 

“Howdy boys!” said Kells, wanly. 

Gulden cursed in amaze while Pearce dropped to 
his knee with an exclamation of concern. Then both 
began to talk at once. Kells interrupted them by 
lifting a weak hand. 

“No, I’m not going—to cash,” he said. “I’m 
only starved—and in need of stimulants. Had my 
back half shot off.” 

“Who plugged you, Jack?” 

“Gulden, it was your side-pardner, Bill.” 

“Bill?” Gulden’s voice held a queer, coarse con¬ 
straint. Then he added, gruffly, “Thought you and 
him pulled together.” 

“Well, we didn’t.” 

* ‘ And—where’s-—Bill now ?” This time Joan heard 
a slow, curious, cold note in the heavy voice, and she 
interpreted it as either doubt or deceit. 

“Bill’s dead and Halloway, too,” replied Kells. 

Gulden turned his massive, shaggy head in the 
direction of Joan. She had not the courage to meet 
the gaze upon her. The other man spoke: 

“Split over the girl, Jack?” 

“No,” replied Kells, sharply. “They tried to get 
familiar with —my wife —and I shot them both.” 

Joan felt a swift leap of hot blood all over her and 
then a coldness, a sickening, a hateful weakness. 

“Wife!” ejaculated Gulden. 

“Your real wife, Jack?” queried Pearce. 

7i 


THE BORDER LEGION 


6 ‘Well, I guess. I’ll introduce you. . . . Joan, hers 
are two of my friends—Sam Gulden and Red 
Pearce.” 

Gulden grunted something. 

“Mrs. Kells, I’m glad to meet you,” said Pearce 0 

Just then the other three men entered the cabin 
and Joan took advantage of the commotion they 
made to get out into the air. She felt sick, fright¬ 
ened, and yet terribly enraged. She staggered a lit¬ 
tle as she went out, and she knew she was as pale 
as death. These visitors thrust reality upon her 
with a cruel suddenness. There was something ter¬ 
rible in the mere presence of this Gulden. She had 
not yet dared to take a good look at him. But what 
she felt was overwhelming. She wanted to run. 
Yet escape now was infinitely more of a menace than 
before. If she slipped away it would be these nev 
enemies who would pursue her, track her like hounds. 
She understood why Kells had introduced her as 
his wife. She hated the idea with a shameful and 
burning hate, but a moment’s reflection taught her 
that Kells had answered once more to a good in¬ 
stinct. At the moment he had meant that to pro¬ 
tect her. And further reflection persuaded Joan 
that she would be wise to act naturally and to carry 
out the deception as far as it was possible for her. 
It was her only hope. Her position had again grown 
perilous. She thought of the gun she had secreted, 
and it gave her strength to control her agitation and 
to return to the cabin outwardly calm. 

The men had Kells half turned over with the 
of his back exposed. 

“Aw, Gul, it’s whisky he needs,” said one. 

72 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“If you let out any more blood he’ll croak sure / 9 
protested another. 

ce Look how weak he is,” said Red Pearce. 

“It’s a hell of a lot you know,” roared Gulden. 
“I served my time—but that’s none of your busi= 
ness. . . o Look here! See that blue spot!” Gulden 
pressed a huge finger down upon the blue welt on 
Kells’sback. The bandit moaned. “That’s lead—- 
that’s the bullet,” declared Gulden. 

“Wal, if you ain’t correct!” exclaimed Pearce. 

Kells turned his head. “When you punched that 
place—it made me numb all over. Gul, if you’ve 
located the bullet, cut it out.” 

Joan did not watch the operation. As she went 
away to the seat under the balsam she heard a sharp 
cry and then cheers. Evidently the grim Gulden 
had been both swift and successful. 

Presently the men came out of the cabin and be¬ 
gan to attend to their horses and the pack-train. 

Pearce looked for Joan, and upon seeing her called 
out, “Kells wants you.” 

Joan found the bandit half propped up against a 
saddle with a damp and pallid face, but an altogether 
different look. 

“Joan, that bullet was pressing on my spine,” he 
said. “Now it’s out, all that deadness is gone. I 
feel alive. I’ll get well, soon. . . . Gulden was curl- 
ous over the bullet. It’s a forty-four caliber, and 
neither Bill Bailey nor Halloway used that caliber 
of gun. Gulden remembered. He’s cunning. Bill 
was as near being a friend to this Gulden as any 
man I know of. I can’t trust any of these men. 
particularly Gulden. You stay pretty close by me / 9 
73 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Kells, you’ll let me go soon—help me to get 
home?” implored Joan in a low voice. 

“Girl, it’d never be safe now,” he replied. 

“Then later—soon—when it is safe?” 

“We’ll see. . . . But you’re—my wife now !* 9 

With the latter words the man subtly changed,, 
Something of the power she had felt in him before 
his illness began again to be manifested. Joan di¬ 
vined that these comrades had caused the difference 
in him. 

“You won’t dare—!” Joan was unable to con¬ 
clude her meaning. A tight band compressed her 
breast and throat, and she trembled. 

“Will you dare go out there and tell them you’re not 
my wife?” he queried. His voice had grown stronger 
and his eyes were blending shadows of thought. 

Joan knew that she dared not. She must choose 
the lesser of two evils. “No man—could be such 
a beast to a woman—after she’d saved his life,” 
she whispered. 

“I could be anything. You had your chance. I 
told you to go. I said if I ever got well I’d be as 
I was—before.” 

“But you’d have died.” 

“That would have been better for you. . . . Joan, 
I’ll do this. Marry you honestly and leave the 
country. I’ve gold. I’m young. I love you. I 
intend to have you. And I’ll begin life over again. 
What do you say?” 

“Say? I’d die before—I’d marry you!” she panted. 

“All right, Joan Randle,” he replied, bitterly. 
“For a moment I saw a ghost. My old dead better 
self! . . . It’s gone. . . . And you stay with me.” 


CHAPTER VII 


AFTER dark Kells had his men build a fire before 
the open side of the cabin. He lay propped up 
on blankets and his saddle, while the others lounged 
or sat in a half-circle in the light, facing him. 

Joan drew her blankets into a corner where the 
shadows were thick and she could see without being 
seen. She wondered how she would ever sleep near 
all these wild men—if she could ever sleep again. 
Yet she seemed more curious and wakeful than fright¬ 
ened. She had no way to explain it, but she felt the 
fact that her presence in camp had a subtle influence, 
at once restraining and exciting. So she looked out 
upon the scene with wide-open eyes. 

And she received more strongly than ever an im¬ 
pression of wildness. Even the camp-fire seemed 
to burn wildly; it did not glow and sputter and pale 
and brighten and sing like an honest camp-fire. It 
blazed in red, fierce, hurried flames, wild to consume 
the logs. It cast a baleful and sinister color upon the 
hard faces there. Then the blackness of the en¬ 
veloping night was pitchy, without any bold outline 
of canon wall or companionship of stars. The 
coyotes were out in force and from all around came 
their wild, sharp barks. The wind ros« and mourned 
weirdly through the balsams. 

6 75 


THE BORDER LEGION 

But it was in the men that Joan felt mostly that 
element of wildness. Kells lay with his ghastly face 
clear in the play of the moving flares of light. It 
wa-‘ an intelligent, keen, strong face, but evil. Evil 
power stood out in the lines, in the strange eyes, 
stranger tHah ever, now in shadow; and it seemed 
once more the face of an alert, listening, implacable 
man, with wild projects in mind, driving him to the 
doom he meant for others. Pearce’s red face shone 
redder in that ruddy light. It was hard, lean, al¬ 
most fleshless, a red mask stretched over a grinning 
skull. The one they called Frenchy was little, dark, 
small-featured, with piercing gimlet-like eyes, and a 
mouth ready to gush forth hate and violence. The 
next two were not particularly individualized by 
any striking aspect, merely looking border ruffians 
after the type of Bill and Halloway. But Gul¬ 
den, who sat at the end of the half-circle, was an ob¬ 
ject that Joan could scarcely bring her gaze to study. 
Somehow her first glance at him put into her mind a 
strange idea—that she was a woman and therefore 
of all creatures or things in the world the farthest 
removed from him. She looked away, and found 
her gaze returning, fascinated, as if she were a bird 
and he a snake. The man was of huge frame, a giant 
whose every move suggested the acme of physical 
power. He was an animal—a gorilla with a shock 
of light instead of black hair, of pale instead of black 
skin. His features might have been hewn and ham¬ 
mered out with coarse, dull, broken chisels. And 
upon his face, in the lines and cords, in the huge 
caverns where his eyes hid, and in the huge gash 
that held strong, white fangs, had been stamped by 
76 


THE BORDER LEGION 

nature and by life a terrible ferocity. Here was & 
man or a monster in whose presence Joan felt that 
she would rather be dead. He did not smoke; he did 
not indulge in the coarse, good-natured raillery; he sat 
there like a huge engine of destruction that needed 
no rest, but was forced to rest because of weaker 
attachments. On the other hand, he was not sullen 
or brooding. It was that he did not seem to think. 

Kells had been rapidly gaining strength since the 
extraction of the bullet, and it was evident that his 
interest was growing proportionately. He asked 
questions and received most of his replies from Red 
Pearce. Joan did not listen attentively at first, 
but presently she regretted that she had not. She 
gathered that Kells’s fame as the master bandit of 
the whole gold region of Idaho, Nevada, and north 
eastern California was a fame that he loved as much 
as the gold he stole. Joan sensed, through the re¬ 
plies of these men and their attitude toward Kells, 
that his power was supreme. He ruled the robbers 
and ruffians in his bands, and evidently they were 
scattered from Bannack to Lewiston and all along 
the border. He had power, likewise, over the bor¬ 
der hawks not directly under his leadership. During 
the weeks of his enforced stay in the canon there had 
been a cessation of operations—the nature of which 
Joan merely guessed—and a gradual accumulation of 
idle waiting men in the main camp. Also she gath¬ 
ered, but vaguely, that though Kells had supreme 
power, the organization he desired was yet far from 
being consummated. He showed thoughtfulness and 
irritation by turns, and it was the subject of gold 
that drew his intensest interest. 

77 


THE BORDER LEGION 


8 ‘Reckon you figgered right, Jack,” said Red 
Pearce, and paused as if before a long talk, while 
he refilled his pipe. “Sooner or later there’ll be 
the biggest gold strike ever made in the West. 
Wagon-trains are met every day cornin’ across from 
Salt Lake. Prospectors are workin’ in hordes down 
from Bannack. All the gulches an’ valleys in the 
Bear Mountains have their camps. Surface gold 
everywhere an’ easy to get where there’s water. 
But there’s diggin’s all over. No big strike yet. 
It’s bound to come sooner or later. An’ then when 
the news hits the main-traveled’roads an’ reaches back 
into the mountains there’s goin’ to be a rush that ’ll 
make ’49 an’ ’51 look sick. What do you say, Bate?” 

“Shore will,” replied a grizzled individual whom 
Kells had called Bate Wood. He was not so young 
as his companions, more sober, less wild, and slower 
of speech. “I saw both ’49 an’ ’51. Them was 
days! But I’m agreein’with Red. There shore will 
be hell on this Idaho border sooner or later. I’ve 
been a prospector, though I never hankered after 
the hard work of diggin’ gold. Gold is hard to dig, 
easy to lose, an’ easy to get from some other feller. 
I see the signs of a cornin’ strike somewhere in this 
region. Mebbe it’s on now. There’s thousands of 
prospectors in twos an’ threes an’ groups, out in the 
hills all over. They ain’t a-goin’ to tell when they 
do make a strike. But the gold must be brought 
out. An’ gold is heavy. It ain’t easy hid. Thet’s 
how strikes are discovered. I shore reckon thet this 
year will beat ’49 an’ ’51. An’ fer two reasons. 
There’s a steady stream of broken an’ disappointed 
gold-seekers back-trailin’ from California. There’s 
78 


THE BORDER LEGION 


a bigger stream of hopeful an’ crazy fortune-hunters 
travelin’ in from the East. Then there’s the wim- 
men an’ gamblers an’ such thet hang on. An’ last 
the men thet the war is drivin’ out here. Whenever 
an’ wherever these streams meet, if there’s a big gold 
strike, there’ll be the hellishest time the world ever 
saw!” 

“Boys,” said Kells, with a ring in his weak voice, 
‘“it’ll be a harvest for my Border Legion.” 

“Fer what?” queried Bate Wood, curiously. 

All the others except Gulden turned inquiring and 
interested faces toward the bandit. 

“The Border Legion,” replied Kells. 

“An’ what’s that?” asked Red Pearce, bluntly. 

“Well, if the time’s ripe for the great gold fever 
you say is coming, then it’s ripe for the greatest 
band ever organized. I’ll organize. I’ll call it the 
Border Legion.” 

“Count me in as right-hand pard,” replied Red, 
with enthusiasm. 

“An’ shore me, boss,” added Bate Wood. 

The idea was received vociferously, at which 
demonstration the giant Gulden raised his massive 
head and asked, or rather growled, in a heavy voice 
what the fuss was about. His query, his roused 
presence, seemed to act upon the others, even Kells, 
with a strange, disquieting or halting force, as if 
here was a character or an obstacle to be con¬ 
sidered. After a moment of silence Red Pearce 
explained the project. 

“Huh! Nothing new in that,” replied Gulden. 
“I belonged to one once. It was in Algiers. They 
called it the Royal Legion.” 

79 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Algiers. What’s thet?” asked Bate Woods 

“Africa,” replied Gulden. 

“Say Gul, you’ve been round some,” said Red 
Pearce, admiringly. ‘ ‘ What was the Royal Legion ?” 

“Nothing but a lot of devils from all over. The 
border there was the last place. Every criminal 
was safe from pursuit.” 

“What’d you do?” 

“Fought among ourselves. Wasn’t many in the 
Legion when I left.” 

“Shore thet ain’t strange!” exclaimed Wood, sig¬ 
nificantly. But his inference was lost upon Gulden. 

“I won’t allow fighting in my Legion,” said Kells, 
coolly. “I’ll pick this band myself.” 

“Thet’s the secret,” rejoined Wood. “The right 
fellers. I’ve been in all kinds of bands. Why, I 
even was a vigilante in ’51.” 

This elicted a laugh from his fellows, except the 
wooden-faced Gulden. 

“How many do we want?” asked Red Pearce. 

“The number doesn’t matter. But they must be 
men I can trust and control. Then as lieutenants 
I’ll need a few young fellows, like you, Red. Nervy, 
daring, cool, quick of wits.” 

Red Pearce enjoyed the praise bestowed upon him 
and gave his shoulders a swagger. “Speakin’ of 
that, boss,” he said, “reminds me of a chap who 
rode into Cabin Gulch a few weeks ago. Braced 
right into Beard’s place, where we was all playin’ 
faro, an’ he asks for Jack Kells. Right off we all 
thought he was a guy who had a grievance, an’ some 
of us was for pluggin’ him. But I kinda liked him 
an’ I cooled the gang down. Glad I did that. He 
80 


THE BORDER LEGION 


wasn’t wantin’ to throw a gun. His intentions were 
friendly. Of course I didn’t show curious about 
who or what he w T as. Reckoned he was a young 
feller who’d gone bad sudden-like an’ was huntin’ 
friends. An’ I’m here to say, boss, that he was 
wild.” 

'‘What’s his name?” asked Kells. 

“Jim Cleve, he said,” replied Pearce. 

Joan Randle, hidden back in the shadows, for¬ 
gotten or ignored by this bandit group, heard the 
name Jim Cleve with pain and fear, but not amaze. 
From the moment Pearce began his speech she had 
been prepared for the revelation of her runaway 
lover’s name. She trembled, and grew a little sick; 
Jim had made no idle threat. What would she have 
given to live over again the moment that had 
alienated him? 

“Jim Cleve,” mused Kells. “Never heard of him. 
And I never forget a name or a face. What’s he 
like?” 

“Clean, rangy chap, big, but not too big,” replied 
Pearce. “All muscle. Not more ’n twenty-three. 
Hard rider, hard fighter, hard gambler an’ drinker 
■—reckless as hell. If only you can steady him, 
boss! Ask Bate what he thinks.” 

“Well!” exclaimed Kells in surprise. “Strangers 
are every-day occurrences on this border. But I 
never knew one to impress you fellow T s as this Cleve. 
. . . Bate, what do you say? What’s this Cleve done? 
You’re an old head. Talk sense, now.” 

“Done?” echoed Wood, scratching his grizzled 
head. “What in the hell ’ain’t he done? ... He rode 
in brazener than any feller thet ever stacked up 
81 


THE BORDER LEGION 


against this outfit. An’ straight-off he wins the outfit* 
I don’t know how he done it. Mebbe it was because 
you seen he didn’t care fer anythin’ or anybody on 
earth. He stirred us up. He won all the money 
we had in camp—broke most of us—an’ give it all 
back. He drank more’n the whole oufit, yet didn’t 
get drunk. He threw his gun on Beady Jones fer 
cheatin’ an’ then on Beady’s pard, Chick Williams. 
Didn’t shoot to kill—jest winged ’em. But say, he’s 
the quickest an’ smoothest hand to throw a gun thet 
ever hit this border. Don’t overlook thet. . . . 
Kells, this Jim Cleve’s a great youngster goin’ bad 
quick. An’ I’m here to add thet he’ll take some 
company along.” 

“Bate, you forgot to tell how’ he handled Luce,” 
said Red Pearce. “You was there. I wasn’t. Tell 
Kells that.” 

“Luce. I know the man. Go ahead, Bate,” re¬ 
sponded Kells. 

“Mebbe it ain’t any recommendation fer said 
Jim Cleve,” replied Wood. “Though it did sorta 
warm me to him. . . . Boss, of course, you recollect 
thet little Brander girl over at Bear Lake village. 
She’s old Brander’s girl—worked in his store there. 
I’ve seen you talk sweet to her myself. Wal, it 
seems the ole man an’ some of his boys took to 
prospectin’ an’ fetched the girl along. Thet’s how 
I understood it. Luce came bracin’ in over at 
Cabin Gulch one day. As usual, we was drinkin’ an’ 
playin’. But young Cleve wasn’t doin’ neither. He 
had a strange, moody spell thet day, as I recollect. 
Luce sprung a job on us. We never worked with 
him or his outfit, but mebbe—you can’t tell what’d 


THE BORDER LEGION 


come off if it hadn’t been fer Cleve. Luce had a job 
put up to ride down where ole Brander was washin 9 
fer gold, take what he had—an’ the girl. Fact was 
the gold was only incidental. When somebody cor¬ 
nered Luce he couldn’t swear there was gold worth 
goin’ after. An’ about then jim Cleve woke up. 
He cussed Luce somethin’ fearful. An’ when Luce 
went fer his gun, natural-like, why this Jim Cleve 
took it away from him. An’ then he jumped Luce. 
He knocked an’ threw him around an’ he near beat 
him to death before we could interfere. Luce was 
shore near dead. All bartered up—broken bones— 
an’ what-all I can’t say. We put him to bed an’ 
he’s there yet, an’ he’ll never be the man he was.” 

A significant silence fell upon the group at the 
conclusion of Wood’s narrative. Wood had liked the 
telling, and it had made his listeners thoughtful. All 
at once the pale face of Kells turned slightly toward 
Gulden. 

“Gulden, did you hear that?” asked Kells. 

“Yes,” replied the man. 

“What do you think about this Jim Cleve—and 
the job he prevented?” 

“Never saw Cleve. I’ll look him up when we 
get back to camp. Then I’ll go after the Brander 
girl.” 

How strangely his brutal assurance marked a line 
between him and his companions! There was some¬ 
thing wrong, something perverse in this Gulden. 
Had Kells meant to bring that point out or to get 
an impression of Cleve ? 

Joan could not decide. She divined that there was 
antagonism between Gulden and all the others, 
83 


THE BORDER LEGION 


And there was something else, vague and intangible^ 
that might have been fear. Apparently Gulden was 
a criminal for the sake of crime. Joan regarded him 
with a growing terror—augmented the more because 
he alone kept eyes upon the corner where she was 
hidden—and she felt that compared with him the 
others, even Kells, of whose cold villainy she was 
assured, were but insignificant men of evil. She 
covered her head with a blanket to shut out sight 
of that shaggy, massive head and the great, dark 
caves of eyes. 

Thereupon Joan did not see or hear any more of 
the bandits. Evidently the conversation died down, 
or she, in the absorption of new thoughts, no longer 
heard. She relaxed, and suddenly seemed to quiver 
all over with the name she whispered to herself. 
“Jim! Jim! Jim! Oh, Jim!” And the last whisper 
was an inward sob. What he had done w r as terrible. 
It tortured her. She had not believed it in him. 
Yet, now she thought, how like him! All for her—- 
in despair and spite—he had ruined himself. He 
would be killed out there in some drunken brawl, 
or, still worse, he would become a member of this 
bandit crew and drift into crime. That was the 
great blow to Joan—that the curse she had put 
upon him. How silly, false, and vain had been her 
coquetry, her indifference! She loved Jim Cleve. 
She had not known that when she started out to 
trail him, to fetch him back, but she knew it now u 
She ought to have known before. 

The situation she had foreseen loomed dark and 
monstrous and terrible in prospect. Just to think 
of it made her body creep and shudder with cold 
84 


THE BORDER LEGION 


terror. Yet there was that strange, inward, thrill- 
ing bum round her heart. Somewhere and soon she 
was coming face to face with this changed Jim Cleve 
—this boy who had become a reckless devil. What 
would he do? What could she do? Might he not 
despise her, scorn her, curse her, taking her at Kells’s 
word, the wife of a bandit ? But no! he would divine 
the truth in the flash of an eye. And then! She 
could not think what might happen, but it must 
mean blood—death. If he escaped Kells, how could 
he ever escape this Gulden—this huge vulture of 
prey? 

Still, with the horror thick upon her, Joan could 
not wholly give up. The moment Jim Cleve’s name 
and his ruin burst upon her ears, in the gossip of 
these bandits, she had become another girl—a girl 
wholly become a woman, and one with a driving 
passion to save if it cost her life. She lost her fear 
of Kells, of the others, of all except Gulden. He 
was not human, and instinctively she knew she 
could do nothing with him. She might influence 
the others, but never Gulden. 

The torment in her brain eased then, and gradually 
she quieted down, with only a pang and a weight 
in her breast. The past seemed far away. The 
present was nothing. Only the future, that con¬ 
tained Jim Cleve, mattered to her. She would not 
have left the clutches of Kells, if at that moment 
she could have walked forth free and safe. She was 
going on to Cabin Gulch. And that thought was 
the last one in her weary mind as she dropped to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER VIII 


I N three days—during which, time Joan attended 
Kells as faithfully as if she were indeed his wife— 
he thought that he had gained sufficiently to under¬ 
take the journey to the main camp, Cabin Gulcho 
He was eager to get back there and imperious in his 
overruling of any opposition. The men could take 
turns at propping him in a saddle. So on the morn¬ 
ing of the fourth day they packed for the ride. 

During these few days Joan had verified her sus¬ 
picion that Kells had two sides to his character; 
or it seemed, rather, that her presence developed a 
latent or a long-dead side. When she was with him, 
thereby distracting his attention, he was entirely 
different from what he was when his men surrounded 
him. Apparently he had no knowledge of this. He 
showed surprise and gratitude at Joan’s kindness, 
though never pity or compassion for her. That he 
had become infatuated with her Joan could no 
longer doubt. His strange eyes followed her; there 
was a dreamy light in them; he was mostly silent 
with her. 

Before those few days had come to an end he had 
developed two things—a reluctance to let Joan leave 
his sight and an intolerance of the presence of the 
Dther men, particularly Gulden. Always Joan felt 
86 


THE BORDER LEGION 

the eyes of these men upon her, mostly in unob¬ 
trusive glances, except Gulden’s, The giant studied 
her with slow, cavernous stare, without curiosity or 
speculation or admiration. Evidently a woman was 
a new and strange creature to him and he was ex¬ 
periencing unfamiliar sensations. Whenever Joan 
accidentally met his gaze—for she avoided it as much 
as possible—she shuddered with a sick memory of 
a story she had heard—how a huge and ferocious 
gorilla had stolen into an African village and run off 
with a white woman. She could not shake the 
memory. And it was this that made her kinder 
to Kells than otherwise would have been possible. 

All Joan’s faculties sharpened in this period. She 
felt her own development—the beginning of a bitter 
and hard education—an instinctive assimilation of 
all that nature taught its wild people and creatures, 
the first thing in elemental life—self-preservation. 
Parallel in her heart and mind ran a hopeless despair 
and a driving, unquenchable spirit. The former was 
fear, the latter love. She believed beyond a doubt 
that she had doomed herself along with Jim Cleve; 
she felt that she had the courage, the power, the love 
to save him, if not herself. And the reason that she 
did not falter and fail in this terrible situation was 
because her despair, great as it was, did not equal 
her love. 

That morning, before being lifted upon his horse, 
Kells buckled on his gun-belt. The sheath and full 
round of shells and the gun made this belt a burden 
for a weak man. And so Red Pearce insisted. But 
Kells laughed in his face. The men, always except 
87 


THE BORDER LEGION 


ing Gulden, were unfailing in kindness and care, 
Apparently they would have fought for Kells to the 
death. They were simple and direct in their rough 
feelings. But in Kells, Joan thought, was a char¬ 
acter who was a product of this border wildness, yet 
one who could stand aloof from himself and see the 
possibilities, the unexpected, the meaning of that 
life. Kells knew that a man and yet another might 
show kindness and faithfulness one moment, but the 
very next, out of a manhood retrograded to the sav¬ 
age, out of the circumstance or chance, might re¬ 
spond to a primitive force far sundered from thought 
or reason, and rise to unbridled action. Joan di¬ 
vined that Kells buckled on his gun to be ready to 
protect her. But his men never dreamed his mo¬ 
tive. Kells was a strong, bad man set among men 
like him, yet he was infinitely different because he 
had brains. 

On the start of the journey Joan was instructed 
to ride before Kells and Pearce, who supported the 
leader in his saddle. The pack-drivers and Bate 
Wood and Frenchy rode ahead; Gulden held to the 
rear. And this order was preserved till noon, when 
the cavalcade halted for a rest in a shady, grassy, 
and well-watered nook. Kells was haggard, and his 
brow wet with clammy dew, and lined with pain* 
Yet he was cheerful and patient. Still he hurried 
the men through their tasks. 

In an hour the afternoon travel was begun. The 
canon and its surroundings grew more rugged and of 
larger dimensions. Yet the trail appeared to get 
broader and better all the time. Joan noticed in« 
ersecting trails, running down from side canons 


THE BORDER LEGION 

and gulches. The descent was gradual, and scarcely 
evident in any way except in the running water and 
warmer air. 

Kells tired before the middle of the afternoon, 
and he would have fallen from his saddle but for the 
support of his fellows. One by one they held him 
up. And it was not easy work to ride alongside, hold* 
ing him up. Joan observed that Gulden did not offer 
his services. He seemed a part of this gang, yet not 
of it. Joan never lost a feeling of his presence be¬ 
hind her, and from time to time, when he rode closer, 
the feeling grew stronger. Toward the close of that 
afternoon she became aware of Gulden's strange at¬ 
tention. And when a halt was made tor camp she 
dreaded something nameless. 

This halt occurred early, before sunset, and had 
been necessitated by the fact that Kells was fainting. 
They laid him out on blankets, with his head in his 
saddle. Joan tended him, and he recovered some¬ 
what, though he lacked the usual keenness. 

It was a busy hour with saddles, packs, horses, 
with wood to cut and fire to build and meal to 
eook. Kells drank thirstily, but refused food. 

“Joan,” he whispered, at an opportune moment, 
®*rm only tired—dead for sleep. You stay beside 
me. Wake me quick—if you want to!” 

He closed his eyes wearily, without explaining, and 
soon slumbered. Joan did not choose to allow these 
men to see that she feared them or distrusted them 
or disliked them. She ate with them beside the fire. 
And this was their first opportunity to be close to 
hen The fact had an immediate and singular in¬ 
fluence. Joan had no vanity, though she knew she 
89 


THE BORDER LEGION 


was handsomec She forced herself to be pleasant, 
agreeable, even sweet. Their response was instant 
and growing. At first they were bold, then familiar 
and coarse. For years she had been used to rough 
men of the camps. These, however, were different, 
and their jokes and suggestions had no effect be¬ 
cause they were beyond her. And when this be¬ 
came manifest to them that aspect of their relation 
to her changed. She grasped the fact intuitively, 
and then she verified it by proof. Her heart beat 
strong and high. If she could hide her hate, her 
fear, her abhorrence, she could influence these wild 
men. But it all depended upon her charm, her 
strangeness, her femininity. Insensibly they had been 
influenced, and it proved that in the worst of men 
there yet survived some good. Gulden alone pre¬ 
sented a contrast and a problem. He appeared 
aware of her presence while he sat there eating like 
a wolf, but it was as if she were only an objecto 
The man watched as might have an animal. 

Her experience at the camp-fire meal inclined her 
to the belief that, if there were such a possibility as 
her being safe at all, it would be owing to an uncon¬ 
scious and friendly attitude toward the companions 
she had been forced to accept. Those men were 
pleased, stirred at being in her vicinity. Joan came 
to a melancholy and fearful cognizance of her at¬ 
traction. While at home she seldom had borne upon 
her a reality—that she was a woman. Her place, her 
person were merely natural. Here it was all dif¬ 
ferent. To these wild men, developed by loneliness, 
fierce-blooded, with pulses like whips, a woman was 
something that thrilled, charmed, soothed, that in- 
90 


THE BORDER LEGION 

died a strange, insatiable, inexplicable hunger for very 
sight of her. They did not realize it, but Joan did. 

Presently Joan finished her supper and said: “I’ll 
go hobble my horse. He strays, sometimes. ,, 

“Shore I’ll go, miss,” said Bate Wood. He had 
never called her Mrs. Kells, but Joan believed he 
had not thought of the significance. Hardened old 
ruffian that he was, Joan regarded him as the best 
of a bad lot. He had lived long, and some of his 
life had not been bad. 

“Let me go,” added Pearce. 

“No, thanks. I’ll go myself,” she replied. 

She took the rope hobble off her saddle and boldly 
swung down the trail. Suddenly she heard two or 
more of the men speak at once, and then, low and 
clear: “Gulden, where’n hell are you goin’?” This 
was Red Pearce’s voice. 

Joan glanced back. Gulden had started down the 
trail after her. Her heart quaked, her knees shook, 
and she was ready to run back. Gulden halted, 
then turned away, growling. He acted as if caught 
In something surprising to himself. 

“We’re on to you, Gulden,” continued Pearce, 
deliberately. “Be careful or we’ll put Kells on.” 

A booming, angry curse was the response. * The 
men grouped closer and a loud altercation followed. 
Joan almost ran down the trail and heard no more. 
If any one of them had started her way now she 
would have plunged into the thickets like a frightened 
deer. Evidently, however, they meant to let her 
alone. Joan found her horse, and before hobbling 
him she was assailed by a temptation to mount him 
and ride away. This she did not want to do and 

7 oi 


THE BORDER LEGION 


would not do under any circumstances; still, she 
could not prevent the natural instinctive impulses 
of a woman. 

She crossed to the other side of the brook and re¬ 
turned toward camp under the spruce and balsam 
trees. She did not hurry. It was good to be alone, 
out of sight of those violent men, away from that 
constant wearing physical proof of catastrophe. 
Nevertheless, she did not feel free or safe for a mo¬ 
ment; she peered fearfully into the shadows of the 
rocks and trees; and presently it was a relief to get 
back to the side of the sleeping Kells. He lay in a 
deep slumber of exhaustion. She arranged her own 
saddle and blankets near him, and prepared to meet 
the night as best she could. Instinctively she took 
a position where in one swift snatch she could get 
possession of Kells’s gun. 

It was about time of sunset, warm and still in the 
canon, with rosy lights fading upon the peaks. The 
men were all busy with one thing and another. 
Strange it was to see that Gulden, who Joan thought 
might be a shirker, did twice the work of any man, 
especially the heavy work. He seemed to enjoy 
carrying a log that would have overweighted two 
ordinary men. He was so huge, so active, so power¬ 
ful that it was fascinating to watch him. They built 
the camp-fire for the night uncomfortably near 
Joan’s position; however, remembering how cold the 
air would become later, she made no objection. Twi¬ 
light set in and the men, through for the day, gath¬ 
ered near the fire. 

Then Joan was not long in discovering that the 
situation had begun to impinge upon the feelings of 
92 


THE BORDER LEGION 


each of these men. They looked at her differently. 
Some of them invented pretexts to approach her, to 
ask something, to offer service—anything to get near 
her. A personal and individual note had been in* 
■jected into the attitude of each. Intuitively Joan 
guessed that Gulden’s arising to follow her had 
turned their eyes inward. Gulden remained silent 
and inactive at the edge of the camp-fire circle of 
light, which flickered fitfully around him, making 
him seem a huge, gloomy ape of a man. So far as 
Joan could tell, Gulden never cast his eyes in her 
direction. That was a difference which left cause 
for reflection. Had that hulk of brawn and bone 
begun to think? Bate Wood’s overtures to Joan 
were rough, but inexplicable to her because she 
dared not wholly trust him. 

“An’ shore, miss,” he had concluded, in a hoarse 
whisper, “we-all know you ain’t Kells’s wife. Thet 
bandit wouldn’t marry no woman. He’s a woman- 
hater. He was famous fer thet over in California. 
He’s run off with you—kidnapped you, thet’s shore. 
... An’ Gulden swears he shot his own men an’ was 
in turn shot by you. Thet bullet-hole in his back 
was full of powder. There’s liable to be a muss-up 
any time. . . . Shore, miss, you’d better sneak off 
with me to-night when they’re all asleep. I’ll git 
grub an’ hosses, an’ take you off to some prospector’s 
camp. Then you can git home.” 

Joan only shook her head. Even if she could have 
felt trust in Wood—and she was of half a mind to 
believe him—it was too late. Whatever befell her 
mattered little if in suffering it she could save Jim 
Cleve from the ruin she had wrought. 

93 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Since this wild experience of Joan's had begun 
she had been sick so many times with raw and naked 
emotions hitherto unknown to her, that she believed 
she could not feel another new fear or torture. But 
these strange sensations grew by what they had been 
fed upon. 

The man called Frenchy was audacious, persist¬ 
ent, smiling, amorous-eyed, and rudely gallant. He 
cared no more for his companions than if they had 
not been there. He vied with Pearce in his atten¬ 
tion, and the two of them discomfited the others. 
The situation might have been amusing had it not 
been so terrible. Always the portent was a shadow 
behind their interest and amiability and jealousy. 
Except for that one abrupt and sinister move of 
Gulden's—that of a natural man beyond deceit— 
there was no word, no look, no act at which Joan 
could have been offended. They were joking, sar¬ 
castic, ironical, and sullen in their relation to each 
other; but to Joan each one presented what was 
naturally or what he considered his kindest and 
most friendly front. A young and attractive woman 
had dropped into the camp of lonely wild men; and 
in their wild hearts was a rebirth of egotism, vanity, 
hunger for notice. They seemed as foolish as a lot 
of cock grouse preening themselves and parading be¬ 
fore a single female. Surely in some heart was born 
real brotherhood for a helpless girl in peril. In¬ 
evitably in some of them would burst a flame of 
passion as it had in Kells. 

Between this amiable contest for Joan’s glances 
and replies, with its possibility of latent good to her, 
and the dark, lurking, unspoken meaning, such as 
94 


THE BORDER LEGION 


lay in Gulden’s brooding, Joan found another new 
and sickening torture. 

4 ‘Say, Frenchy, you’re no lady’s man,” declared 
Red Pearce, “an’ you, Bate, you’re too old. Move 
—pass by—sashay!” Pearce, good-naturedly, but 
deliberately, pushed the two men back. 

“Shore she’s Kells’s lady, ain’t she?” drawled 
Wood. “Ain’t you-all forgettin’ thet?” 

“Kells is asleep or dead,” replied Pearce, and he 
succeeded in getting the field to himself. 

“Where’d you meet Kells, anyway?” he asked 
Joan, with his red face bending near hers. 

Joan had her part to play. It was difficult, be¬ 
cause she divined Pearce’s curiosity held a trap to 
catch her in a falsehood. He knew—they all knew 
she was not Kells’s wife. But if she were a prisoner 
she seemed a willing and contented one. The query 
that breathed in Pearce’s presence was how was he 
to reconcile the fact of her submission with what 
he and his comrades had potently felt as her good¬ 
ness? 

“That doesn’t concern anybody,” replied Joan. 

“Reckon not,” said Pearce. Then he leaned 
nearer with intense face. “What I want to know— 
is Gulden right? Did you shoot Kells?” 

In the dusk Joan reached back and clasped Kells’s 
hand. 

For a man as weak and weary as he had been, it 
was remarkable how quickly a touch awakened him. 
He lifted his head. 

“Hello! Who’s that?” he called out, sharply. 

Pearce rose guardedly, startled, but not confused. 
00 It’s only me, boss,” he replied. “I was about to 
95 


THE BORDER LEGION 


turn in, an' wanted to know how you are—if I could 
do anythin’.” 

‘ 4 I’m all right, Red,’’ replied Kells, coolly. ‘‘Clear 
out and let me alone. All of you.” 

Pearce moved away with an amiable good-night 
and joined the others at the camp-fire. Presently 
they sought their blankets, leaving Gulden hunching 
there silent in the gloom. 

“Joan, why did you wake me?” whispered Kells. 

“Pearce asked me if I shot you,” replied Joan. 
“I woke you instead of answering him.” 

“He did!” exclaimed Kells under his breath. 
Then he laughed. “Can’t fool that gang. I guess 
it doesn’t matter. Maybe it ’d be well if they knew 
you shot me.” 

He appeared thoughtful, and lay there with the 
fading flare of the fire on his pale face. But he did 
not speak again. Presently he fell asleep. 

Joan leaned back, within reach of him, with her 
head in her saddle, and pulling a blanket up over her, 
relaxed her limbs to rest. Sleep seemed the farthest 
thing from her. She wondered that she dared to 
think of it. The night had grown chilly; the wind 
was sweeping with low roar through the balsams; 
the fire burned dull and red. Joan watched the 
black, shapeless hulk that she knew to be Gulden. 
For a long time he remained motionless. By and 
by he moved, approached the fire, stood one moment 
in the dying ruddy glow, his great breadth and bulk 
magnified, with all about him vague and shadowy, 
but the more sinister for that. The cavernous eyes 
were only black spaces in that vast face, yet Joan 
saw them upon her. He lay down then among the 
96 


THE BORDER LEGION 


other men and soon his deep and heavy breathing 
denoted the tranquil slumber of an ox. 

For hours through changing shadows and starlight 
Joan lay awake, while a thousand thoughts besieged 
her, all centering round that vital and compelling 
one of Jim Cleve. 

Only upon awakening, with the sun in her face, did 
Joan realize that she had actually slept. 

The camp was bustling with activity. The horses 
were in, fresh and quarrelsome, with ears laid back. 
Kells was sitting upon a rock near the fire with a cup 
of coffee in his hand. He was looking better. When 
he greeted Joan his voice sounded stronger. She 
walked by Pearce and Frenchy and Gulden on her 
way to the brook, but they took no notice of her. 
Bate Wood, however, touched his sombrero and 
said: “Momin’, miss. ,, Joan wondered if her 
memory of the preceding night were only a bad 
dream. There was a different atmosphere by day¬ 
light, and it was dominated by Kells. Presently 
she returned to camp refreshed and hungry. Gulden 
was throwing a pack, which action he performed with 
ease and dexterity. Pearce was cinching her saddle. 
Kells was talking, more like his old self than at any 
time since his injury. 

Soon they were on the trail. For Joan time always 
passed swiftly on horseback. Movement and chang¬ 
ing scene were pleasurable to her. The passing of 
time now held a strange expectancy, a mingled fear 
and hope and pain, for at the end of this trail was 
Jim Cleve. In other days she had flouted him, 
made fun of him, dominated him, everything except 
97 


THE BORDER LEGION 


loved and feared him. And now she was assured 
of her love and almost convinced of her fear. The 
reputation these wild bandits gave Jim was astound¬ 
ing and inexplicable to Joan. She rode the miles 
thinking of Jim, dreading to meet him, longing to 
see him, praying and planning for him. 

About noon the cavalcade rode out of the mouth 
of a canon into a wide valley, surrounded by high, 
rounded foot-hills. Horses and cattle were grazing 
on the green levels. A wide, shallow, noisy stream 
split the valley. Joan could tell from the tracks at 
the crossing that this place, whatever and wherever 
it was, saw considerable travel; and she concluded 
the main rendezvous of the bandits was close at 
hand. 

The pack-drivers led across the stream and the 
valley to enter an intersecting ravine. It was nar¬ 
row, rough-sided, and floored, but the trail was good. 
Presently it opened out into a beautiful V-shaped 
gulch, very different from the high-walled, shut-in 
canons. It had a level floor, through which a brook 
flowed, and clumps of spruce and pine, with here and 
there a giant balsam. Huge patches of wild flowers 
gave rosy color to the grassy slopes. At the upper 
end of this gulch Joan saw a number of widely 
separated cabins. This place, then, was Cabin 
Gulch. 

Upon reaching the first cabin the cavalcade split 
up. There were men here who hallooed a welcome. 
Gulden halted with his pack-horse. Some of the 
others rode on. Wood drove other pack-animals 
off to the right, up the gentle slope. And Red 
Pearce, who was beside Kells, instructed Joan to 
98 


THE BORDER LEGION 


follow them. They rode up to a bench of strag¬ 
gling spruce-trees, in the midst of which stood a 
large log cabin. It was new, as in fact all the 
structures in the Gulch appeared to be, and none of 
them had seen a winter. The chinks between the 
logs were yet open. This cabin was of the rudest 
make of notched logs one upon another, and roof of 
brush and earth. It was low and flat, but very long, 
and extending before the whole of it was a porch 
roof supported by posts. At one end was a corral. 
There were doors and windows with nothing in them. 
Upon the front wall, outside, hung saddles and 
bridles. 

Joan had a swift, sharp gaze for the men who rose 
from their lounging to greet the travelers. Jim 
Cleve was not among them. Her heart left her 
throat then, and she breathed easier. How could 
she meet him? 

Kells was in better shape than at noon of the pre¬ 
ceding day. Still, he had to be lifted off his horse. 
Joan heard all the men talking at once. They 
crowded round Pearce, each lending a hand. How¬ 
ever, Kells appeared able to walk into the cabin. 
It was Bate Wood who led Joan inside. 

There was a long room, with stone fireplace, rude 
benches and a table, skins and blankets on the floor, 
and lanterns and weapons on the wall. At one end 
Joan saw a litter of cooking utensils and shelves of 
supplies. 

Suddenly Kells’s impatient voice silenced the 
clamor of questions. “I’m not hurt,” he said. 
“I’m all right—only weak and tired. Fellows, this 
girl is my wife. . . . Joan, you’ll find a room there— 
99 


THE BORDER LEGION 

at the back of the cabin. Make yourself comfort* 
able.” 

Joan was only too glad to act upon his suggestion. 
A door had been cut through the back wall. It was 
covered with a blanket. When she swept this aside 
she came upon several steep steps that led up to a 
smaller, lighter cabin of two rooms, separated by a 
partition of boughs. She dropped the blanket be¬ 
hind her and went up the steps. Then she saw that 
the new cabin had been built against an old one. 
It had no door or opening except the one by which 
she had entered. It was light because the chinks 
between the logs were open. The furnishings were 
a wide bench of boughs covered with blankets, a 
shelf with a blurred and cracked mirror hanging 
above it, a table made of boxes, and a lantern. This 
room was four feet higher than the floor of the other 
cabin. And at the bottom of the steps leaned a 
half-dozen slender trimmed poles. She gathered 
presently that these poles were intended to be slipped 
under cross-pieces above and fastened by a bar 
below, which means effectually barricaded the open¬ 
ing. Joan could stand at the head of the steps and 
peep under an edge of the swinging blanket into the 
large room, but that was the only place she could 
see through, for the openings between the logs of 
each wall were not level. These quarters were com¬ 
fortable, private, and could be shut off from in¬ 
truders. Joan had not expected so much considers 
tion from Kells and she was grateful. 

She lay down to rest and think. T t was really 
very pleasant here. There were birds nesting in the 
chinks; a ground-squirrel ran along one of the logs 
ioo 


THE BORDER LEGION 

and chirped at her; through an opening near her 
face she saw a wild rose-bush and the green slope 
of the gulch; a soft, warm, fragrant breeze blew 
in, stirring her hair. How strange that there could 
be beautiful and pleasant things here in this robber 
den; that time was the same here as elsewhere; 
that the sun shone and the sky gleamed blue. Pres¬ 
ently she discovered that a lassitude weighed upon 
her and she could not keep her eyes open. She 
ceased trying, but intended to remain awake—to 
think, to listen, to wait. Nevertheless, she did fall 
asleep and did not awaken till disturbed by some 
noise. The color of the western sky told her that 
the afternoon was far spent. She had slept hours. 
Some one was knocking. She got up and drew aside 
the blanket. Bate Wood was standing near the 
door. 

“Now, miss, I’ve supper ready,” he said, “an* I 
was reckonin’ you’d like me to fetch yours.” 

“Yes, thank you, I would,” replied Joan. 

In a few moments Wood returned carrying the 
top of a box upon which were steaming pans and 
cups. He handed this rude tray up to Joan. 

“Shore I’m a first-rate cook, miss, when I’ve 
somethin’ to cook,” he said, with a smile that 
changed his hard face. 

She returned the smile with her thanks. Evi¬ 
dently Kells had a well-filled larder, and as Joan 
had fared on coarse and hard food for long, this 
supper was a luxury and exceedingly appetizing. 
While she was eating, the blanket curtain moved 
aside and Kells appeared. He dropped it behind 
Mm, but did not step up into the room. H« was 

IOI 


THE BORDER LEGION 


in his shirt-sleeves, had been clean shaven, and 
looked a different man. 

“How do you like your—home?” he inquired* 
with a hint of his former mockery. 

“I’m grateful for the privacy,” she replied. 

“You think you could be worse off, then?” 

“I know it.” 

“Suppose Gulden kills me—and rules the gang— 
and takes you? . . . There’s a story about him, the 
worst I’ve heard on this border. I’ll tell you 
some day when I want to scare you bad.” 

“Gulden!” Joan shivered as she pronounced the 
name. “Are you and he enemies?” 

“No man can have a friend on this border. We 
flock together like buzzards. There’s safety in 
numbers, but we fight together, like buzzards over 
carrion.” 

“Kells, you hate this life?” 

“I’ve always hated my life, everywhere. The 
only life I ever loved was adventure. ... I’m willing 
to try a new one, if you’ll go with me.” 

Joan shook her head. 

“Why not? I’ll marry you,” he went on, speak 
ing lower. “I’ve got gold; I’ll get more.” 

“Where did you get the gold?” she asked. 

“I’ve relieved a good many overburdened trav~ 
eSers and prospectors,” he replied. 

“Kells, you’re a—a villain!” exclaimed Joan, 
unable to contain her sudden heat. “You must be 
utterly mad—to ask me to marry you.” 

“No, I’m not mad,” he rejoined, with a laugh. 
“Gulden’s the mad one. He’s crazy. He’s got a 
twist in his brain. I’m no fool. . . . I’ve only lost 
102 


THE BORDER LEGION 


my head over you. But compare marrying me, liv® 
ing and traveling among decent people and comfort, 
to camps like this. If I don’t get drunk I’ll be half 
decent to you. But I’ll get shot sooner or later. 
Then you’ll be left to Gulden.” 

‘‘Why do you say him ?” she queried, in a shudder 
of curiosity. 

“Well, Gulden haunts me.” 

“He does me, too. He makes me lose my sense 
of proportion. Beside him you and the others seem 
good. But you are wicked.” 

“Then you won’t marry me and go away some¬ 
where? . . . Your choice is strange. Because I tell 
you the truth.” 

“Kells! I’m a woman. Something deep in me 
says you won’t keep me here—you can't be so base. 
Not now , after I saved your life! It would be 
horrible—inhuman. I can’t believe any man bom 
of a woman could do it.” 

“But I want you—I love you!” he said, low and 
hard. 

“Love! That’s not love,” she replied in scorn. 
“God only knows what it is.” 

“Call it what you like,” he went on, bitterly. 
“You’re a young, beautiful, sweet woman. It’a 
wonderful to be near you. My life has been hell. 
I’ve had nothing. There’s only hell to look for¬ 
ward to—and hell at the end. Why shouldn’t I 
keep you here?” 

“But, Kells, listen,” she whispered, earnestly, 
“suppose I am young and beautiful and sweet—as 
you said. I’m utterly in your power. I’m com¬ 
pelled to seek your protection from even worse 
103 


THE BORDER LEGION 


men. You’re different from these others. You’re 
educated. You must have had—a—a good mother. 
Now you’re bitter, desperate, terrible. You hate 
life. You seem to think this charm you see in me 
will bring you something. Maybe a glimpse of joy! 
But how can it? You know better. How can it. . . 
unless I—I love you?” 

Kells stared at her, the evil and hardness of his 
passion corded in his face. And the shadows of 
comprehending thought in his strange eyes showed 
the other side of the man. He was still staring at 
her while he reached to put aside the curtains; then 
he dropped his head and went out. 

Joan sat motionless, watching the door where he 
had disappeared, listening to the mounting beats 
of her heart. She had been only frank and earnest 
with Kells. But he had taken a meaning from her 
last few words that she had not intended to convey. 
All that was woman in her—mounting, fighting, 
hating, leaped to the power she sensed in herself. 
If she could be deceitful, cunning, shameless in hold¬ 
ing out to Kells a possible return of his love, she 
could do anything with him. She knew it. She 
did not need to marry him or sacrifice herself. Joan 
was amazed that the idea remained an instant before 
her consciousness. But something told her this was 
another kind of life than she had known, and all 
that was precious to her hung in the balance. Any 
falsity was justifiable, even righteous, under the cir¬ 
cumstances. Could she formulate a plan that this 
keen bandit would not see through? The remotest 
possibility of her ever caring for Kells—that was as 
much as she dared hint. But that, together with all 
104 


THE BORDER LEGION 


the charm and seductiveness she could summon, 
might be enough. Dared she try it? If she tried 
and failed Kells would despise her, and then she was 
utterly lost. She was caught between doubt and 
hope. All that was natural and true in her shrank 
from such unwomanly deception; all that had been 
born of her wild experience inflamed her to play 
the game, to match Kells’s villainy with a woman’s 
unfathomable duplicity. 

And while Joan was absorbed in thought the sun 
set, the light failed, twilight stole into the cabin, 
and then darkness. All this hour there had been a 
continual sound of men’s deep voices in the large 
cabin, sometimes low and at other times loud. It 
was only when Joan distinctly heard the name Jim 
Cleve that she was startled out of her absorption, 
thrilling and flushing. In her eagerness she nearly 
fell as she stepped and groped through the dark¬ 
ness to the door, and as she drew aside the blanket 
her hand shook. 

The large room was lighted by a fire and 
half a dozen lanterns. Through a faint tinge of 
blue smoke Joan saw men standing and sitting 
and lounging around Kells, who had a seat 
where the light fell full upon him. Evidently a 
lull had intervened in the talk. The dark faces 
Joan could see were all turned toward the door 
expectantly. 

“Bring him in, Bate, and let’s look him over,” 
said Kells. 

Then Bate Wood appeared, elbowing his way in, 
and he had his hand on the arm of a tall, lithe fellow. 
When they got into the light Joan quivered as if 
105 


THE BORDER LEGION 


she had been stabbed. That stranger with Wood 
was Jim Cleve—Jim Cleve in frame and feature^ 
yet not the same she knew. 

“Cleve, glad to meet you,” greeted Kells, extend¬ 
ing his hand. 

“Thanks. Same to you,” replied Cleve, and he 
met the proffered hand. His voice was cold and 
colorless, unfamiliar to Joan. Was this man really 
Jim Cleve? 

The meeting of Kells and Cleve was significant 
because of Kells’s interest and the silent attention 
of the men of his clan. It did not seem to mean 
anything to the white-faced, tragic-eyed Cleve. 
Joan gazed at him with utter amazement. She re¬ 
membered a heavily built, florid Jim Cleve, an over¬ 
grown boy with good-natured, lazy smile on his full 
face and sleepy eyes. She all but failed to recog¬ 
nize him in the man who stood there now, lithe and 
powerful, with muscles bulging in his coarse, white 
shirt. Joan’s gaze swept over him, up and down, 
shivering at the two heavy guns he packed, till it 
was transfixed on his face. The old, or the other, 
Jim Cleve had been homely, with too much 
flesh on his face to show force or fire. This man 
seemed beautiful. But it was a beauty of tragedy. 
He was as white as Kells, but smoothly, purely 
white, without shadow or sunburn. His lips seemed 
to have set with a bitter, indifferent laugh. His 
eyes looked straight out, piercing, intent, haunted, 
and as dark as night. Great blue circles lay under 
them, lending still further depth and mystery. It 
was a sad, reckless face that wrung Joan’s very 
heartstrings. She had come too late to save hig 
106 


THE BORDER LEGION 

happiness, but she prayed that it was not too late 
to save his honor and his soul. 

While she gazed there had been further exchange 
of speech between Kells and Cleve, and she had 
heard, though not distinguished, what was said. 
Kells was unmistakably friendly, as were the other 
men within range of Joan’s sight. Cleve was sur¬ 
rounded; there were jesting and laughter; and then 
he was led to the long table where several men 
were already gambling. 

Joan dropped the curtain, and in the darkness of 
her cabin she saw that white, haunting face, and 
when she covered her eyes she still saw it. The 
pain, the reckless violence, the hopeless indifference, 
the wreck and ruin in that face had been her doing. 
Why? How had Jim Cleve wronged her? He had 
loved her at her displeasure and had kissed, her 
against her will. She had furiously upbraided nim, 
and when he had finally turned upon her, threatening 
to prove he was no coward, she had scorned him 
with a girl’s merciless injustice. All her strength 
and resolve left her, momentarily, after seeing Jim 
there. Like a woman, she weakened. She lay on 
the bed and writhed. Doubt, hopelessness, de¬ 
spair, again seized upon her, and some strange, 
yearning maddening emotion. What had she sacri¬ 
ficed? His happiness and her own—and both their 
lives! 

The clamor in the other cabin grew so boisterous 
that suddenly when it stilled Joan was brought 
sharply to the significance of it. Again she drew 
aside the curtain and peered out. 

Gulden, huge, stolid, gloomy, was entering the 
S 107 


THE BORDER LEGION 


cabin. The man fell into the circle and faced Kells 
with the firelight dancing in his cavernous eyes. 

'‘Hello, Gulden!” said Kells, coolly. “What ails 
you?” 

“Anybody tell you about Bill Bailey?” asked 
Gulden, heavily. 

Kells did not show the least concern. “Tell me 
what?” 

“That he died in a cabin, down in the valley?” 

Kells gave a slight start and his eyes narrowed 
and shot steely glints. “No. It’s news to me.” 

“Kells, you left Bailey for dead. But he lived. 
He was shot through, but he got there somehow— 
nobody knows. He was far gone when Beady Jones 
happened along. Before he died he sent word to 
me by Beady. . . . Are you curious to know what it 
was?” 

“Not the least,” replied Kells. “Bailey was— 
well, offensive to my wife. I shot him.” 

“He swore you drew on him in cold blood,” thun¬ 
dered Gulden. “He swore it was for nothing—just 
so you could be alone with that girl!” 

Kells rose in wonderful calmness, with only his 
pallor and a slight shaking of his hands to betray 
excitement. An uneasy stir and murmur ran 
through the room. Red Pearce, nearest at hand, 
stepped to Kells’s side. All in a moment there was 
a deadly surcharged atmosphere there. 

“Well, he swore right! . . . Now what’s it to you?” 

Apparently the fact and its confession were noth¬ 
ing particular to Gulden, or else he was deep where 
all considered him only dense and shallow. 

“It’s done. Bill’s dead,” continued Gulden. “But 
ao8 


THE BORDER LEGION 


why do you double-cross the gang? What’s the 
game? You never did it before. . . . That girl isn’t 
your—” 

“Shut up!” hissed Kells. Like a flash his hand 
flew out with his gun, and all about him was dark 
menace. 

Gulden made no attempt to draw. He did not 
show surprise nor fear nor any emotion. He ap¬ 
peared plodding in mind. 

Red Pearce stepped between Kells and Gulden. 
There was a relaxation in the crowd, loud breaths, 
scraping of feet. Gulden turned away. Then 
Kells resumed his seat and his pipe as if nothing 
out of the ordinary had occurred. 


CHAPTER IX 


J OAN turned away from the door in a cold clamp 
of relief. The shadow of death hovered over 
these men. She must fortify herself to live under 
that shadow, to be prepared for any sudden violence, 
to stand a succession of shocks that inevitably would 
come. She listened. The men were talking and 
laughing now; there came a click of chips, the spat 
of a thrown card, the thump of a little sack of gold. 
Ahead of her lay the long hours of night in which 
these men would hold revel. Only a faint ray of 
light penetrated her cabin, but it was sufficient for 
her to distinguish objects. She set about putting 
the poles in place to barricade the opening. When 
she had finished she knew she was safe at least from 
intrusion. Who had constructed that rude door 
and for what purpose? Then she yielded to the 
temptation to peep once more under the edge of the 
curtain. 

The room was cloudy and blue with smoke. She 
saw Jim Cleve at a table gambling with several 
ruffians. His back was turned, yet Joan felt the 
contrast of his attitude toward the game, compared 
with that of the others. They were tense, fierce, and 
intent upon every throw of a card. Cleve’s very 
poise of head and movement of arm betrayed hi? 
no 


THE BORDER LEGION 

indifference. One of the gamblers howled his dis¬ 
gust, slammed down his cards, and got up. 

“He’s cleaned out,” said one, in devilish glee. 

“Naw, he ain’t,” vouched another. “He’s got 
two fruit-cans full of dust. I saw ’em. . . . He’s just 
lay down—like a poisoned coyote.” 

“Shore I’m glad Cleve’s got the luck, fer mebbe 
he’ll give my gold back,” spoke up another gamester, 
with a laugh. 

“Wal, he certainlee is the chilvalus card sharp,” 
rejoined the last player. “Jim, was you alius as 
lucky in love as in cards?” 

“Lucky in love? . . . Sure!” answered Jim Cleve, 
with a mocking, reckless ring in his voice. 

“Funny, ain’t thet, boys? Now there’s the boss. 
Kells can sure win the gurls, but he’s a pore gambler.” 
Kells heard this speech, and he laughed with the 
owners. “Hey, you greaser, you never won any of 
my money,” he said. 

“Come an’ set in, boss. Come an’ see your gold 
fade away. You can’t stop this Jim Cleve. Luck 
—bull luck straddles his neck. He’ll win your gold 
-—your hosses an’ saddles an’ spurs an’ guns—an’ 
your shirt, if you’ve nerve enough to bet it.” 

The speaker slapped his cards upon the table while 
he gazed at Cleve in grieved admiration. Kells 
walked over to the group and he put his hand on 
Cleve’s shoulder. 

“Say youngster,” he said, genially, “you said you 
were just as lucky in love. . . . Now I had a hunch 
some bad luck with a girl drove you out here to the 
border.” 

Kells spoke jestingly, in a way that could give no 
in 


THE BORDER LEGION 


offense, even to the wildest of boys, yet there was 
curiosity, keenness, penetration, in his speecho It 
had not the slightest effect upon Jim Cleve. 

“Bad luck and a girl? ... To hell with both!” he 
said. 

“Shore you're talkin' religion. Thet’s where both 
luck an’ gurls come from,” replied the unlucky 
gamester. “Will one of you hawgs pass the 
whisky?” 

The increased interest with which Kells looked 
down upon Jim Cleve was not lost upon Joan. But 
she had seen enough, and, turning away, she stumbled 
to the bed and lay there with an ache in her heart Q 

“Oh,” she whispered to herself, “he is ruined—■ 
ruined—ruined! . . . God forgive me!” She saw 
bright, cold stars shining between the logs. The 
night wind swept in cold and pure, with the dew of 
the mountain in it. She heard the mourn of wolves, 
the hoot of an owl, the distant cry of a panther, 
weird and wild. Yet outside there was a thick and 
lonely silence. In that other cabin, from which she 
was mercifully shut out, there were different sounds, 
hideous by contrast. By and by she covered her 
ears, and at length, weary from thought and sorroWj, 
she drifted into slumber. 

Next morning, long after she had awakened, the 
cabin remained quiet, with no one stirring. Morn¬ 
ing had half gone before Wood knocked and gave 
her a bucket of water, a basin, and towels. Later 
he came with her breakfast. After that she had 
nothing to do but pace the floor of her two rooms. 
One appeared to be only an empty shed, long in dis¬ 
use. Her view from both rooms was restricted to 
112 


THE BORDER LEGION 


the green slope of the gulch up to yellow crags and 
the sky. But she would rather have had this to 
watch than an outlook upon the cabins and the 
doings of these bandits. 

About noon she heard the voice of Kells in low 
and earnest conversation with some one; she could 
not, however, understand what was said. That 
ceased, and then she heard Kells moving around. 
There came a clatter of hoofs as a horse galloped 
away from the cabin, after which a knock sounded 
on the wall. 

“Joan,” called Kells. Then the curtain was swept 
aside and Kells, appearing pale and troubled, 
stepped into her room. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Joan, hurriedly. 

“Gulden shot two men this morning. One’s 
dead. The other’s in bad shape, so Red tells me, 
I haven’t seen him.” 

“Who—who are they?” faltered Joan. She could 
not think of any man except Jim Cleve. 

“Dan Small’s the one’s dead. The other they call 
Dick. Never heard his last name.” 

“Was it a fight?” 

“Of course. And Gulden picked it. He’s a 
quarrelsome man. Nobody can go against him. 
He’s all the time like some men when they’re drunk. 
I’m sorry I didn’t bore him last night. I would 
have done it if it hadn’t been for Red Pearce.” 

Kells seemed gloomy and concentrated on his 
situation and he talked naturally to Joan, as if she 
were one to sympathize. A bandit, then, in the 
details of his life, the schemes, troubles, friendships, 
relations, was no different from any other kind of a 


THE BORDER LEGION 


man. He was human, and things that might con¬ 
stitute black evil for observers were dear to him, a 
part of him. Joan feigned the sympathy she could 
not feel. 

“I thought Gulden was your enemy.” 

Kells sat down on one of the box seats, and his 
heavy gun-sheath rested upon the floor. He looked 
at Joan now, forgetting she was a woman and his 
prisoner. 

“I never thought of that till now,” he said. “We 
always got along because I understood him. I man¬ 
aged him. The man hasn’t changed in the least. 
He's always what he is. But there’s a difference. 
I noticed that first over in Lost Canon. And, Joan, 
I believe it’s because Gulden saw you.” 

“Oh no!” cried Joan, trembling. 

‘‘Maybe I’m wrong. Anyway something’s wrong. 
Gulden never had a friend or a partner. I don’* 
misunderstand his position regarding Bailey. What 
did he care for that soak? Gulden’s cross-grained„ 
He opposes anything or anybody. He’s got a twist 
in his mind that makes him dangerous.... I wanted 
to get rid of him. I decided to—after last night. 
But now it seems that’s no easy job.” 

“Why?” asked Joan, curiously. 

“Pearce and Wood and Beard, all men I rely on, 
said it won’t do. They hint Gulden is strong with 
my gang here, and all through the border. I was 
wild. I don’t believe it. But as I’m not sure— 
what can I do? . . . They’re all afraid of Gulden. 
That’s it. . . . And I believe I am, too.” 

“You!” exclaimed Joan. 

Kells actually looked ashamed. “I believe I arn 3 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan,” he replied. “That Gulden is not a man* I 
never was afraid of a real man. He’s—he’s an 
animal.” 

“He made me think of a gorilla,” said Joan. 

“There’s only one man I know who’s not afraid 
of Gulden. He’s a new-comer here on the border. 
Jim Cleve he calls himself. A youngster I can’t 
figure! But he’d slap the devil himself in the face. 
Cleve won’t last long out here. Yet you can never 
tell. Men like him, who laugh at death, sometimes 
avert it for long. I was that way once. . . . Cleve 
heard me talking to Pearce about Gulden. And he 
said, 'Kells, I’ll pick a fight with this Gulden and 
drive him out of the camp or kill him.’” 

“What did you say?” queried Joan, trying to 
steady her voice as she averted her eyes. 

“I said: ‘Jim, that wins me. But I don’t want 
you killed.’... It certainly was nervy of the youngster. 
Said it just the same as—as he’d offer to cinch my 
saddle. Gulden can whip a roomful of men. He’s 
done it. And as for a killer—I’ve heard of no man 
with his record.” 

“And that’s why you fear him?” 

“It’s not,” replied Kells, passionately, as if his 
manhood had been affronted. “It’s because he’s 
Gulden. There’s something uncanny about him. 
o . . Gulden’s a cannibal!” 

Joan looked as if she had not heard aright. 

“It’s a cold fact. Known all over the border. 
Gulden’s no braggart. But he’s been known to talk. 
He was a sailor—a pirate. Once he was ship¬ 
wrecked. Starvation forced him to be a cannibal. 
He told this in California, and in Nevada camps, 
ns 


THE BORDER LEGION 


But no one believed him. A few years ago he got 
snowed-up in the mountains back of Lewiston. He 
had two companions with him. They all began to 
starve. It was absolutely necessary to try to get 
out. They started out in the snow. Travel was 
desperately hard. Gulden told that his companions 
dropped. But he murdered them—and again saved 
his life by being a cannibal. After this became 
known his sailor yarns were no longer doubted. . . . 
There’s another story about him. Once he got hold 
of a girl and took her into the mountains. After a 
winter he returned alone. He told that he’d kept 
her tied in a cave, without any clothes, and she froze 
to death.” 

‘‘Oh, horrible!” moaned Joan. 

“I don’t know how true it is. But I believe it. 
Gulden is not a man. The worst of us have a con¬ 
science. We can tell right from wrong. But Gul¬ 
den can’t. He’s beneath morals. He has no con¬ 
ception of manhood, such as I’ve seen in the lowest 
of outcasts. That cave story with the girl—that 
betrays him. He belongs back in the Stone Age. 
He’s a thing. . . . And here on the border, if he wants, 
he can have all the more power because of what 
he is.” 

“Kells, don’t let him see me!” entreated Joan. 

The bandit appeared not to catch the fear in 
Joan’s tone and look. She had been only a listener. 
Presently, with preoccupied and gloomy mien, he 
left her alone. 

Joan did not see him again, except for glimpses 
tinder the curtain, for three days. She kept the door 
116 


THE BORDER LEGION 


barred and saw no one except Bate Wood, who 
brought her meals. She paced her cabin like a caged 
creature. During this period few men visited 
Kells’s cabin, and these few did not remain long. 
Joan was aware that Kells was not always at home. 
Evidently he was able to go out. Upon the fourth 
day he called to her and knocked for admittance. 
Joan let him in, and saw that he was now almost 
well again, once more cool, easy, cheerful, with his 
strange, forceful air. 

“Good day, Joan. You don’t seem to be pining 
for your—negligent husband.” 

He laughed as if he mocked himself, but there 
was gladness in the very sight of her, and some in¬ 
definable tone in his voice that suggested respect. 

“I didn’t miss you,” replied Joan. Yet it was a 
relief to see him. 

“No, I imagine not,” he said, dryly. “Well, I’ve 
been busy with men—with plans. Things are work¬ 
ing out to my satisfaction. Red Pearce got around 
Gulden. There’s been no split. Besides, Gulden 
rode off. Some one said he went after a little girl 
named Brander. I hope he gets shot. . . . Joan, we’ll 
be leaving Cabin Gulch soon. I’m expecting news 
that ’ll change things. I won’t leave you here. 
You’ll have to ride the roughest trails. And your 
clothes are in tatters now. You’ve got to have 
something to wear.” 

“I should think so,” replied Joan, fingering the 
thin, worn, ragged habit that had gone to pieces. 
“The first brush I ride through will tear this off.” 

“That’s annoying,” said Kells, with exasperation 
at himself. “Where on earth can I get you a dress? 

117 


THE BORDER LEGION 


We’re two hundred miles from everywhere. The 
wildest kind of country. . . . Say, did you ever wear 
a man’s outfit?” 

“ Ye-es, when I went prospecting and hunting with 
my uncle,” she replied, reluctantly. 

Suddenly he had a daring and brilliant smile that 
changed his face completely. He rubbed his palms 
together. He laughed as if at a huge joke. He 
east a measuring glance up and down her slender 
form. 

44 Just wait till I come back,” he said. 

He left her and she heard him rummaging around 
in the pile of trappings she had noted in a corner 
of the other cabin. Presently he returned carrying 
a bundle. This he unrolled on the bed and spread 
out the articles. 

“Dandy Dale’s outfit,” he said, with animation. 
“Dandy was a would-be knight of the road. He 
dressed the part. But he tried to hold up a stage 
over here and an unappreciative passenger shot him. 
He wasn’t killed outright. He crawled away and 
died. Some of my men found him and they fetched 
his clothes. That outfit cost a fortune. But not a 
man among us could get into it.” 

There was a black sombrero with heavy silver 
band; a dark-blue blouse and an embroidered buck¬ 
skin vest; a belt full of cartridges and a pearl- 
handled gun; trousers of corduroy; high-top leather 
boots and gold-mounted spurs, all of the finest ma¬ 
terial and workmanship. 

“Joan, I’ll make you a black mask out of the rim 
©f a felt hat, and then you’ll be grand.” He spoke 
with the impulse and enthusiasm of a boy. 

*18 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Kells, you don’t mean me to wear these?” asked 
Joan, incredulously. 

“Certainly. Why not? Just the thing. A little 
fancy, but then you’re a girl. We can’t hide that. 
I don’t want to hide it.” 

“I won’t wear them,” declared Joan. 

“Excuse me—but you will,” he replied, coolly and 
pleasantly. 

“I won’t!” cried Joan. She could not keep cool. 

“Joan, you’ve got to take long rides with me. At 
night sometimes. Wild rides to elude pursuers 
sometimes. You’ll go into camps with me. You’ll 
have to wear strong, easy, free clothes. You’ll 
have to be masked. Here the outfit is—as if made 
for you. Why, you’re dead lucky. For this stuff 
is good and strong. It ’ll stand the wear, yet it’s 
fit for a girl. ... You put the outfit on, right 
now.” 

“I said I wouldn’t!” Joan snapped, 

“But what do you care if it belonged to a fellow 
who’s dead ? . . . There! See that hole in the shirt. 
That’s a bullet-hole. Don’t be squeamish. It ’ll 
only make your part harder.” 

“Mr. Kells, you seem to have forgotten entirely 
that I’m a—a girl.” 

He looked blank astonishment. “Maybe I have. 
. . . I’ll remember. But you said you’d worn a 
man’s things.” 

“I wore my brother’s coat and overalls, and was 
lost in them,” replied Joan. 

His face began to work. Then he laughed up¬ 
roariously. “I—under—stand. This ’ll fit—you— 
like a glove. . . . Fine! I’m dying to see you.” 


THE BORDER LEGIO^ 

44 You never will.” 

At that he grew sober and his eyes glinted. “You 
can’t take a little fun. I’ll leave you now for a 
while. When I come back you’ll have that suit 
on!” 

There was that in his voice then which she had 
heard when he ordered men. 

Joan looked her defiance. 

4 ‘If you don’t have it on when I come I’ll—I’ll 
tear your rags off! ... I can do that. You’re a 
strong little devil, and maybe I’m not well enough 
yet to pull this outfit on you. But I can get help.... 
If you anger me I might wait for—Gulden!” 

Joan’s legs grew weak under her, so that she had 
to sink on the bed. Kells would do absolutely and 
literally what he threatened. She understood now 
the changing secret in his eyes. One moment he 
was a certain kind of a man and the very next he 
was incalculably different. She instinctively recog¬ 
nized this latter personality as her enemy. She 
must use all the strength and wit and cunning and 
charm to keep his other personality in the ascendancy, 
else all was futile. 

“Since you force me so—then I must,” she said. 

Kells left her without another word. 

Joan removed her stained, and torn dress and her 
worn-out boots; then hurriedly, for fear Kells 
might return, she put on the dead boy-bandit’s out¬ 
fit. Dandy Dale assuredly must have been her 
counterpart, for his things fit her perfectly. Joan 
felt so strange that she scarcely had courage enough 
to look into the mirror. When she did look she gave 
a start that was of both amaze and shame. But for 
120 


THE BORDER LEGION 


her face she never could have recognized herself. 
What had become of her height, her slenderness? 

She looked like an audacious girl in a dashing boy 
masquerade. Her shame was singular, inasmuch as 
it consisted of a burning hateful consciousness that 
she had not been able to repress a thrill of delight 
at her appearance, and that this costume strangely 
magnified every curve and swell of her body, be¬ 
traying her femininity as nothing had ever done. 

And just at that moment Kells knocked on the 
door and called, “Joan, are you dressed?” 

“Yes,” she replied. But the word seemed in¬ 
voluntary. 

Then Kells came in. 

It was an instinctive and frantic impulse that 
made Joan snatch up a blanket and half envelop 
herself in it. She stood with scarlet face and dilat¬ 
ing eyes, trembling in every limb. Kells had en¬ 
tered with an expectant smile and that mocking 
light in his gaze. Both faded. He stared at the 
blanket—then at her face. Then he seemed to com¬ 
prehend this ordeal. And he looked sorry for her. 

“Why you—you little—fool!” he exclaimed, with 
emotion. And that emotion seemed to exasperate 
him. Turning away from her, he gazed out between 
the logs. Again, as so many times before, he ap¬ 
peared to be remembering something that was hard 
to recall, and vague. 

Joan, agitated as she was, could not help but see • 
the effect of her unexpected and unconscious girl¬ 
ishness. She comprehended that with the mind of 
the woman which had matured in her. Like Kells, 
she, too, had different personalities. 

121 ’ 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“I’m trying to be decent to you,” went on Kells, 
without turning. “I want to give you a chance 
to make the best of a bad situation. But you’re a 
kid—a girl! . . . And I’m a bandit. A man lost to 
all good, who means to have you!” 

“But you’re not lost to all good,” replied Joan, 
earnestly. “I can’t understand what I do feel. 
But I know—if it had been Gulden instead of you— 
that I wouldn’t have tried to hide my—myself be¬ 
hind this blanket. I’m no longer— afraid of you. 
That’s why I acted—so—just like a girl caught. . . . 
Oh! can’t you see?” 

“No, I can’t see,” he replied. “I wish I hadn’t 
fetched you here. I wish the thing hadn’t hap¬ 
pened. Now it’s too late.” 

“It’s never too late. . . . You—you haven’t— 
harmed me yet.” 

“But I love you,” he burst out. “Not like I have. 
Oh! I see this—that I never really loved any woman 
before. Something’s gripped me. It feels like that 

rope at my throat—when they were going to hang 

__ >> 

me. 

Then Joan trembled in the realization that a tre¬ 
mendous passion had seized upon this strange, strong 
man. In the face of it she did not know how to 
answer him. Yet somehow she gathered courage in 
the knowledge. 

Kells stood silent a long moment, looking out at 
the green slope. And then, as if speaking to him¬ 
self, he said: “I stacked the deck and dealt myself a 
hand—a losing hand—and now I’ve got to play it!” 

With that he turned to face Joan. It was the 
piercing gaze he bent upon her that hastened her 
122 


THE BORDER LEGION 


decision to resume the part she had to play. And 
she dropped the blanket. Kells’s gloom and that 
iron hardness vanished. He smiled as she had never 
seen him smile. In that and his speechless delight 
she read his estimate of her appearance; and, not- 
withstanding the unwomanliness of her costume, and 
the fact of his notorious character, she knew she had 
never received so great a compliment. Finally he 
found his voice. 

“Joan, if you’re not the prettiest thing I ever saw 
in my life!” 

“I can’t get used to this outfit,” said Joan. “I 
San’t—I won’t go away from this room in it.” 

“Sure you will. See here, this’ll make a differ¬ 
ence, maybe. You’re so shy.” 

He held out a wide piece of black felt that evident¬ 
ly he had cut from a sombrero. This he measured 
over her forehead and eyes, and then taking his knife 
he cut it to a desired shape. Next he cut eyeholes 
in it and fastened to it a loop made of a short strip 
of buckskin. 

“Try that. . . . Pull it down—even with your 
eyes. There!—take a look at yourself.” 

Joan faced the mirror and saw merely a masked 
stranger. She was no longer Joan Randle. Her 
identity had been absolutely lost. 

“No one—who ever knew me—could recognize 
me now,” she murmured, and the relieving thought 
centered round Jim Cleve. 

“I hadn’t figured on that,” replied Kells. “But 
you’re right. . . . Joan, if I don’t miss my guess, it 
won’t be long till you’ll be the talk of mining-towns 
and camp-fires.” 

9 


123 


THE BORDER LEGION 


This remark of Kells’s brought to Joan proof of his 
singular pride in the name he bore, and proof of 
many strange stories about bandits and wild women 
of the border. She had never believed any of these 
stories. They had seemed merely a part of the life 
of this unsettled wild country. A prospector would 
spend a night at a camp-fire and tell a weird story 
and pass on, never to be seen there again. Could 
there have been a stranger story than her life seemed 
destined to be? Her mind whirled with vague, cir¬ 
cling thought—Kells and his gang, the wild trails, 
the camps and towns, gold and stage-coaches, rob¬ 
bery, fights, murder, mad rides in the dark, and 
back to Jim Cleve and his ruin. 

Suddenly Kells stepped to her from behind and 
put his arms around her. Joan grew stiff. She 
had been taken off her guard. She was in his arms 
and could not face him. 

“Joan, kiss me,” he whispered, with a softness, 
a richer, deeper note in his voice. 

“No!” cried Joan, violently. 

There was a moment of silence in which she fell 
his grasp slowly tighten—the heave of his breast. 

“Then I’ll make you,” he said. So different was 
the voice now that another man might have spoken. 
Then he bent her backward, and, loosing one 
hand, caught it under her chin and tried to lift 
her face. 

But Joan broke into fierce, violent resistance. She 
believed she was doomed, but that only made her 
the fiercer, the stronger. And with her head down, 
her arms straining, her body hard and rigidly un¬ 
yielding she fought him all over the room, knocking 
124 


THE BORDER LEGION 

over the table and seats, wrestling from wall to wall, 
till at last they fell across the bed and she broke his 
hold. Then she sprang up, panting, disheveled, 
and backed away from him. It had been a sharp, 
desperate struggle on her part and she was stronger 
than he. He was not a well man. He raised him¬ 
self and put one hand to his breast. His face was 
haggard, wet, working with passion, gray with pain. 
In the struggle she had hurt him, perhaps reopened 
his wound. 

41 Did you—knife me—that it hurts so?” he panted, 
raising a hand that shook. 

“I had—nothing. ... I just—fought,” cried Joan, 
breathlessly. 

“You hurt me—again—damn you! I’m never 
free—from pain. But this’s worse. . . . And I’m a 
coward. . . . And I’m a dog, too! Not half a man!— 
You slip of a girl—and I couldn’t—hold you!” 

His pain and shame were dreadful for Joan to see, 
because she felt sorry for him, and divined that be¬ 
hind them would rise the darker, grimmer force of 
the man. And she was right, for suddenly he 
changed. That which had seemed almost to make 
him abject gave way to a pale and bitter dignity. 
He took up Dandy Dale’s belt, which Joan had left 
on the bed, and, drawing the gun from its sheatt, he 
opened the cylinder to see if it was loaded, and then 
threw the gun at Joan’s feet. 

“There! Take it—and make a better job this 
time,” he said. 

The power in his voice seemed to force Joan to 
pick up the gun. 

“What do—you mean?” she queried, haltingly. 

I2S 


THE BORDER LEGION 


*'‘Shoot me again! Put me out of my pain—my 
misery! . . . I’m sick of it all. I’d be glad to have 
you kill me!” 

‘‘Kells!” exclaimed Joan, weakly. 

“Take your chance—now—when I’ve no strength 
-—to force you. . . . Throw the gun on me. . . . Kill 
me!” 

He spoke with a terrible impelling earnestness, and 
the strength of his will almost hypnotized Joan into 
execution of his demand. 

“You are mad,” she said. “I don’t want to kill 
you. I couldn’t. ... I just want you to—to be—■ 
decent to me.” 

“I have been—for me. I was only in fun this 
time—when I grabbed you. But the feel of you? 
. . . I can’t be decent any more. I see things cleat 
now. . . . Joan Randle, it’s my life or your soul!” 

He rose now, dark, shaken, stripped of all savf 
the truth. 

Joan dropped the gun from nerveless grasp. 

“Is that your choice?” he asked, hoarsely. 

“I can’t murder you!” 

“Are you afraid of the other men—of Gulden? 
Is that why you can’t kill me? You’re afraid to be 
left—to try to get away?” 

“I never thought of them.” 

“Then—my life or your soul!” 

He stalked toward her, loomed over her, so that 
she put out trembling hands. After the struggle a 
reaction was coming to her. She was weakening. 
She had forgotten her plan. 

“If you’re merciless—then it must be—my soul,” 
she whispered. “For I can't murder you. . . . Could 
126 


THE BORDER LEGION 

fou take that gun now—and press it here—and 
nurder me ?” 

‘‘No. For I love you.” 

“ You don’t love me. It’s a blacker crime to mur¬ 
der the soul than the body.” 

Something in his strange eyes inspired Joan with 
a flashing, reviving divination. Back upon her 
flooded all that tide of woman’s subtle incalculable 
power to allure, to change, to hold. Swiftly she went 
close to Kells. She stretched out her hands. One 
was bleeding from rough contact with the log wall 
during the struggle. Her wrists were red, swollen, 
bruised from his fierce grasp. 

“Look! See what you’ve done. You were a 
beast. You made me fight like a beast. My hands 
were claws—my whole body one hard knot of 
muscle. You couldn’t hold me—you couldn’t kiss 
me. . . . Suppose you are able to hold me—later. 
I’ll only be the husk of a woman. I’ll just be a cold 
shell, doubled-up, unrelaxed, a callous thing never 
to yield. . . . All that’s me , the girl, the woman you 
say you love—will be inside, shrinking, loathing, 
hating, sickened to death. You will only kiss—em¬ 
brace a thing you’ve degraded. The warmth, the 
sweetness, the quiver, the thrill, the response, the 
life—all that is the soul of a woman and makes her 
lovable will be murdered.” 

Then she drew still closer to Kells, and with all 
the wondrous subtlety of a woman in a supreme mo¬ 
ment where a life and a soul hang in the balance, 
she made of herself an absolute contrast to the fierce, 
wild, unyielding creature who had fought him off. 

“Let me show—you the difference,” she whis« 
127 


THE BORDER LEGION 


pered, leaning to him, glowing, soft, eager, terrible, 
with her woman’s charm. “Something tells me-., 
gives me strength. . . . What might be! . . . Only 
barely possible—if in my awful plight—you turned 
out to be a man, good instead of bad! . . . And—if it 
were possible—see the difference—in the woman. 
... I show you—to save my soul!’’ 

She gave the fascinated Kells her hands, slipped 
into his arms, to press against his breast, and leaned 
against him an instant, all one quivering, surrendered 
body; and then lifting a white face, true in its radi¬ 
ance to her honest and supreme purpose to give him 
one fleeting glimpse of the beauty and tenderness 
and soul of love, she put warm and tremulous lips 
to his. 

Then she fell away from him, shrinking and ter¬ 
rified. But he stood there as if something beyond 
belief had happened to him, and the evil of his 
face, the hard lines, the brute softened and vanished 
in a light of transformation. 

“My God!” he breathed, softly. Then he awak¬ 
ened as if from a trance, and, leaping down the 
steps, he violently swept aside the curtain and dis¬ 
appeared. 

Joan threw herself upon the bed and spent the 
last of her strength in the relief of blinding tears. 
She had won. She believed she need never fear 
Kells again. In that one moment of abandon she 
had exalted him. But at what cost! 


CHAPTER X 


N EXT day, when Kells called Joan out into the 
other cabin, she verified her hope and belief, not 
so much in the almost indefinable aging and sadness 
of the man, as in the strong intuitive sense that her 
attraction had magnified for him and had uplifted 
him. 

“You mustn’t stay shut up in there any longer,” 
he said. “You’ve lost weight and you’re pale. Go 
out in the air and sun. You might as well get used 
to the gang. Bate Wood came to me this morning 
and said he thought you were the ghost of Dandy 
Dale. That name will stick to you. I don’t care 
how you treat my men. But if you’re friendly 
you’ll fare better. Don’t go far from the cabin. 
And if any man says or does a thing you don’t like— 
flash your gun. Don’t yell for me. You can bluff 
this gang to a standstill.” 

That was a trial for Joan, when she walked out 
into the light in Dandy Dale’s clothes. She did not 
step very straight, and she could feel the cold prick 
of her face under the mask. It was not shame, but 
fear that gripped her. She would rather die than 
have Jim Cleve recognize her in that bold disguise. 
A line of dusty saddled horses stood heads and 
bridles down before the cabin, and a number of 
129 


THE BORDER LEGION 


lounging men ceased talking when she appeared 
It was a crowd that smelled of dust and horses and 
leather and whisky and tobacco. Joan did not 
recognize any one there, which fact aided her in 
a quick recovery of her composure. Then she found 
amusement in the absolute sensation she made upon 
these loungers. They stared, open-mouthed and 
motionless. One old fellow dropped his pipe from 
bearded lips and did not seem to note the loss. A dark 
young man, dissipated and wild-looking, with years of 
lawlessness stamped upon his face, was the first to 
move; and he, with awkward gallantry, doffed his 
sombrero. Then others greeted her, gruffly, but 
with amiable disposition. Joan wanted to run, yet 
she forced herself to stand there, apparently uncon¬ 
cerned before this battery of bold and curious eyes. 
That, once done, made the rest easier. She was grate¬ 
ful for the mask. And with her first low, almost in¬ 
coherent words, in reply Joan entered upon the sec¬ 
ond phase of her experience with these bandits* 
Naturalness did not come soon, but it did come, and 
with it her wit and courage. 

Used as she had become to the villainous counte 
nances of the border ruffians, she yet upon closer study 
discovered wilder and more abandoned ones. Yet 
despite that, and a brazen, unconcealed admiration, 
there was not lacking kindliness and sympathy and 
good nature. Presently Joan sauntered away, and 
she went among the tired, shaggy horses and made 
friends with them. An occasional rider swung up 
the trail to dismount before Kells’s cabin, and once 
two riders rode in, both staring—all eyes—at her. 
The meaning of her intent alertness dawned upon 
130 


THE BORDER LEGION 


her then. Always, whatever she was doing or think¬ 
ing or saying, behind it all hid the driving watch¬ 
fulness for Jim Cleve. And the consciousness of this 
fixed her mind upon him. Where was he? What 
was he doing? Was he drunk or gambling or fight¬ 
ing or sleeping? Was he still honest? When she 
did meet him what would happen? How could she 
make herself and circumstances known to him be¬ 
fore he killed somebody? A new fear had birth and 
grew—Cleve would recognize her in that disguise, 
mask and all. 

She walked up and down for a while, absorbed 
with this new idea. Then an unusual commotion 
among the loungers drew her attention to a group 
of men on foot surrounding and evidently escorting 
several horsemen. Joan recognized Red Pearce and 
Frenchy, and then, with a start, Jim Cleve. They 
were riding up the trail. Joan’s heart began to 
pound. She could not meet Jim; she dared not 
trust this disguise; all her plans were as if they had 
never been. She forgot Kells. She even forgot her 
fear of what Cleve might do. The meeting—the 
inevitable recognition—the pain Jim Cleve must 
suffer when the fact and apparent significance of 
her presence there burst upon him, these drove all 
else from Joan’s mind. Mask or no mask, she could 
not face his piercing eyes, and like a little coward 
she turned to enter the cabin. 

Before she got in, however, it was forced upon her 
that something unusual had roused the loungers. 
They had arisen and were interested in the approach¬ 
ing group. Loud talk dinned in Joan’s ears. Then 
she went in the door as Kells stalked by, eyes agleam, 

131 


THE BORDER LEGION 


without even noticing her. Once inside her cabin* 
with the curtain drawn, Joan’s fear gave place to 
anxiety and curiosity. 

There was no one in the large cabin. Through the 
outer door she caught sight of a part of the crowd, 
close together, heads up, all noisy. Then she heard 
Kells’s autho “itative voice, but she could understand 
nothing. The babel of hoarse voices grew louder. 
Kells appeared, entering the door with Pearce. Jim 
Cleve came next, and, once the three were inside, 
the crowd spilled itself after them like angry bees. 
Kells was talking, Pearce was talking, but their 
voices were lost. Suddenly Kells vented his tem¬ 
per. 

“Shut up—the lot of you!” he yelled, and his 
power and position might have been measured by 
the menace he showed. 

The gang became suddenly quiet. 

“Now—what’s up?” demanded Kells. 

“Keep your shirt on, boss,” replied Pearce, with 
good humor. “There ain’t much wrong. . . . Cleve, 
here, throwed a gun on Gulden, that’s all.” 

Kells gave a slight start, barely perceptible, but 
the intensity of it, and a fleeting tigerish gleam 
across his face, impressed Joan with the idea that 
he felt a fiendish joy. Her own heart clamped in a 
cold amaze. 

“Gulden!” Kells’s exclamation was likewise a 
passionate query. 

“No, he ain’t cashed,” replied Pearce. “You 
can’t kill that bull so easy. But he’s shot up some. 
He’s layin’ over at Beard’s. Reckon you’d better 
go over an’ dress them shots.” 

132 


THE BORDER LEGION 


4 ‘He can rot before I doctor him,” replied Kells. 
ct Where’s Bate Wood? . . . Bate, you can take my 
kit and go fix Gulden up. And now, Red, what was 
all the roar about?” 

“Reckon that was Gulden’s particular pards try- 
in’ to mix it with Cleve an’ Cleve tryin’ to mix it 
with them—an’ me in between! ... I’m here to say, 
boss, that I had a time stayin’ off a scrap.” 

During this rapid exchange between Kells and 
his lieutenant, Jim Cleve sat on the edge of the 
table, one dusty boot swinging so that his spur 
jangled, a wisp of a cigarette in his lips. His face 
was white except where there seemed to be bruises 
under his eyes. Joan had never seen him look like 
this. She guessed that he had been drunk—per¬ 
haps was still drunk. That utterly abandoned face 
Joan was so keen to read made her bite her tongue 
to keep from crying out. Yes, Jim was lost. 

“What’d they fight about?” queried Kells. 

“Ask Cleve,” replied Pearce. “Reckon I’d just 
as lief not talk any more about him.” 

Then Kells turned to Cleve and stepped before 
him. Somehow these two men face to face thrilled 
Joan to her depths. They presented such contrasts. 
Kells was keen, imperious, vital, strong, and com¬ 
plex, with an unmistakable friendly regard for this 
young outcast. Cleve seemed aloof, detached, in¬ 
different to everything, with a white, weary, reck¬ 
less scorn. Both men were far above the gaping 
ruffians around them. 

“Cleve, why’d you draw on Gulden?” asked Kells, 
sharply. 

“That’s my business,” replied Cleve, slowly, and 
i33 


THE BORDER LEGION 


with his piercing eyes on Kells he blew a long, thin 0 
blue stream of smoke upward. 

“Sure. . o . But I remember what you asked me the 
other day—about Gulden. Was that why?” 

“Nope,” replied Cleve. “This was my affair.” 

“All right. But I’d like to know. Pearce says 
you’re in bad with Gulden’s friends. If I can’t make 
peace between you I’ll have to take sides.” 

“Kells, I don’t need any one on my side,” said 
Cleve, and he flung the cigarette away. 

“Yes, you do,” replied Kells,persuasively. ‘‘Every 
man on this border needs that. And he’s lucky 
'when he gets it.” 

“Well, I don’t ask for it; I don’t want it.” 

“That’s your own business, too. I’m not insist* 
ing or advising.” 

Kells’s force and ability to control men mani¬ 
fested itself in his speech and attitude. Nothing 
could have been easier than to rouse the antagonism 
of Jim Cleve, abnormally responding as he was to 
the wild conditions of this border environment. 

“Then you’re not calling my hand?” queried 
Cleve, with his dark, piercing glance on Kells. 

“I pass, Jim,” replied the bandit, easily. 

Cleve began to roll another cigarette. Joan saw 
his strong, brown hands tremble, and she realized 
that this came from his nervous condition, not 
from agitation. Her heart ached for him. What a 
white, somber face, so terribly expressive of the 
overthrow of his soul! He had fled to the border 
in reckless fury at her—at himself. There in its 
wildness he had, perhaps, lost thought of himself 
and memory of her. He had plunged into the un- 
i34 


THE BORDER LEGION 


restrained border life. Its changing, raw, and fate¬ 
ful excitement might have made him forget, but 
behind all was the terrible seeking to destroy and 
be destroyed. Joan shuddered when she remem¬ 
bered how she had mocked this boy’s wounded vanity 
—how scathingly she had said he did not possess 
manhood and nerve enough even to be bad. 

“See here, Red,” said Kells to Pearce, “tell me 
what happened—what you saw. Jim can’t object 
to that.” 

“Sure,” replied Pearce, thus admonished. “We 
was all over at Beard’s an’ several games was on. 
Gulden rode into camp last night. He’s always 
sore, but last night it seemed more ’n usual. But 
he didn’t say much an’ nothin’ happened. We all 
reckoned his trip fell through. To-day he was rest¬ 
less. He walked an’ walked just like a cougar in a 
pen. You know how Gulden has to be on the move. 
Well, we let him alone, you can bet. But sudden¬ 
like he comes up to our table—me an’ Cleve an’ 
Beard an’ Texas was playin’ cards—an’ he nearly 
kicks the table over. I grabbed the gold an’ Cleve 
he saved the whisky. We’d been drinkin’ an’ 
Cleve most of all. Beard was white at the gills 
with rage an’ Texas was soffocatin’. But we all 
was afraid of Gulden, except Cleve, as it turned out. 
But he didn’t move or look mean.< An’ Gulden 
pounded on the table an’ addressed himself to 
Cleve. 

“T’ve a job you’ll like. Come on.’ 

“‘Job? Say, man, you couldn’t have a job I’d 
Hke,’ replied Cleve, slow an’ cool. 

“You know how Gulden gets when them spells 
i3S 


THE BORDER LEGION 


come over him. It’s just plain cussedness. IVe 
seen gun-fighters lookin’ for trouble — for some 
one to kill. But Gulden was worse than that. 
You all take my hunch—he’s got a screw loose in 
his nut! 

“‘Cleve,’ he said, ‘I located the Brander gold- 
diggin’s—an’ the girl was there.’ 

‘‘Some kind of a white flash went over Cleve. 
An’ we all, rememberin’ Luce, began to bend low, 
ready to duck. Gulden didn’t look no different 
from usual. You can’t see any change in him. 
But I for one felt all hell burnin’ in him. 

“‘Oho! You have,’ said Cleve, quick, like he was 
pleased. ‘An’ did you get her?’ 

“‘Not yet. Just looked over the ground. I’m 
pickin’ you to go with me. We’ll split on the gold, 
an’ I’ll take the girl.’ 

“Cleve swung the whisky-bottle an’ it smashed 
* on Gulden’s mug, knockin’ him flat. Cleve was up, 
like a cat, gun burnin’ red. The other fellers were 
dodgin’ low. An’ as I ducked I seen Gulden, flat 
on his back, draggin’ at his gun. He stopped short 
an’ his hand flopped. The side of his face went all 
bloody. I made sure he’d cashed, so I leaped up an’ 
grabbed Cleve. 

“It’d been all right if Gulden had only cashed. 
But he hadn’t. He came to an’ bellered fer his gun 
an’ fer his pards. Why, you could have heard him 
for a mile. . . . Then, as I told you, I had trouble in 
holdin’ back a general mix-up. An’ while he was 
hollerin’ about it I led them all over to you. Gul¬ 
den is layin’ back there with his ear shot off. An* 
that’s all.” 

136 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Kells, with thoughtful mien, turned from Pearce to 
the group of dark-faced men. “This fight settles 
one thing,” he said to them. “We’ve got to have 
organization. If you’re not all a lot of fools you’ll 
see that. You need a head. Most of you swear 
by me, but some of you are for Gulden. Just be¬ 
cause he’s a bloody devil. These times are the wild¬ 
est the West ever knew, and they’re growing wilder. 
Gulden is a great machine for execution. He has 
no sense of fear. He’s a giant. He loves to fight— 
to kill. But Gulden’s all but crazy. This last deal 
proves that. I leave it to your common sense. 
He rides around hunting for some lone camp to rob. 
Or some girl to make off with. He does not plan 
with me or the men whose judgment I have con¬ 
fidence in. He’s always without gold. And so are 
most of his followers. I don’t know who they are. 
And I don’t care. But here we split—unless they 
and Gulden take advice and orders from me. I’m 
not so much siding with Cleve. Any of you ought 
to admit that Gulden’s kind of work will disorganize 
a gang. He’s been with us for long. And he ap¬ 
proaches Cleve with a job. Cleve is a stranger. 
He may belong here, but he’s not yet one of us. 
Gulden oughtn’t have approached him. It was no 
straight deal. We can’t figure what Gulden meant 
exactly, but it isn’t likely he wanted Cleve to go. 
It was a bluff. He got called. ... You men think 
this over—whether you’ll stick to Gulden or to me. 
Clear out now.” 

His strong, direct talk evidently impressed them s 
and in silence they crowded out of the cabin, leaving 
Pearce and Cleve behind. 

i37 


THE BORDER LEGlON 


3g Jim, are you just hell-bent on fighting or do you 
mean to make yourself the champion of every poor 
girl in these wilds?” 

Cleve puffed a cloud of smoke that enveloped his 
head. “I don’t pick quarrels,” he replied. 

“Then you get red-headed at the very mention 
of a girl.” 

A savage gesture of Cleve’s suggested that Kells 
was right. 

“Here, don’t get red-headed at me,” called Kells, 
with piercing sharpness. “I’ll be your friend if you 
let me. . . . But declare yourself like a man—if you 
want me for a friend!” 

“Kells, I’m much obliged,” replied Cleve, with a 
semblance of earnestness. “I’m no good or I 
wouldn’t be out here. . . . But I can’t stand for these 
—these deals with girls.” 

“You’ll change,” rejoined Kells, bitterly. “Wait 
till you live a few lonely years out here! You don’t 
understand the border. You’re young. I’ve seen the 
gold-fields of California and Nevada. Men go crazy 
with the gold fever. It’s gold that makes men wild. 
If you don’t get killed you’ll change. If you live 
you’ll see life on this border. War debases the 
moral force of a man, but nothing like what you’ll 
experience here the next few years. Men with their 
wives and daughters are pouring into this range. 
They’re all over. They’re finding gold. They’ve 
tasted blood. Wait till the great gold strike comes! 
Then you’ll see men and women go back ten thou¬ 
sand years. . . . And then what ’ll one girl more or 
less matter?” 

“Well, you see, Kells, I was loved so devotedly 
138 


THE BORDER LEGION 


by one and made such a hero of—that I just can’t 
bear to see any girl mistreated.” 

He almost drawled the words, and he was suave 
and cool, and his face was inscrutable, but a bitter¬ 
ness in his tone gave the lie to all he said and looked. 

Pearce caught the broader inference and laughed 
as if at a great joke. Kells shook his head doubt¬ 
fully, as if Cleve’s transparent speech only added 
to the complexity. And Cleve turned away, as if 
in an instant he had forgotten his comrades. 

Afterward, in the silence and darkness of night, 
Joan Randle lay upon her bed sleepless, haunted by 
Jim’s white face, amazed at the magnificent madness 
of him, thrilled to her soul by the meaning of his 
attack on Gulden, and tortured by a love that had 
grown immeasurably full of the strength of these 
hours of suspense and the passion of this wild 
border. 

Even in her dreams Joan seemed to be bending 
all her will toward that inevitable and fateful mo¬ 
ment when she must stand before Jim Cleve. It 
had to be. Therefore she would absolutely compel 
herself to meet it, regardless of the tumult that 
must rise within her. When all had been said, her 
experience so far among the bandits, in spite of the 
shocks and suspense that had made her a different 
girl, had been infinitely more fortunate than might 
have been expected. She prayed for this luck to 
continue and forced herself into a belief that it 
Would. 

That night she had slept in Dandy Dale’s clothes, 
10 139 


THE BORDER LEGION 


except for the boots; and sometimes while turning 
in restless slumber she had been awakened by rolling 
on the heavy gun, which she had not removed from 
the belt. And at such moments she had to ponder 
in the darkness, to realize that she, Joan Randle, 
lay a captive in a bandit’s camp, dressed in a dead 
bandit’s garb, and packing his gun—even while she 
slept. It was such an improbable, impossible thing. 
Yet the cold feel of the polished gun sent a thrill 
of certainty through her. 

In the morning she at least did not have to suffer 
the shame of getting into Dandy Dale’s clothes, for 
she was already in them. She found a grain of com¬ 
fort even in that. When she had put on the mask and 
sombrero she studied the effect in her little mirror. 
And she again decided that no one, not even Jim 
Cleve, could recognize her in that disguise. Like¬ 
wise she gathered courage from the fact that even 
her best girl friend would have found her figure un¬ 
familiar and striking where once it had been merely 
tall and slender and strong, ordinarily dressed. 
Then how would Jim Cleve ever recognize her? 
She remembered her voice that had been called a 
contralto, low and deep; and how she used to sing 
the simple songs she knew. She could not disguise 
that voice. But she need not let Jim hear it. Then 
there was a return of the idea that he would in¬ 
stinctively recognize her—that no disguise could be 
proof to a lover who had mined himself for her. 
Suddenly she realized how futile all her worry and 
shame. Sooner or later she must reveal her identity 
to Jim Cleve. Out of all this complexity of emotion 
Joan divined that what she yearned most for was to 

i do 


THE BORDER LEGION 


spare Cleve the shame consequent upon recognition 
of her and then the agony he must suffer at a false 
conception of her presence there. It was a weakness 
in her. When death menaced her lover and the most 
inconceivably horrible situation yawned for her, still 
she could only think of her passionate yearning to 
have him know, all in a flash, that she loved him, 
that she had followed him in remorse, that she was 
true to him and would die before being anything else. 

And when she left her cabin she was in a mood 
to force an issue. 

Kells was sitting at table and being served by 
Bate W T ood. 

“Hello, Dandy!” he greeted her, in surprise and 
pleasure. “This’s early for you.” 

Joan returned his greeting and said that she could 
not sleep all the time. 

“You’re coming round. I’ll bet you hold up a 
stage before a month is out.” 

“Hold up a stage?” echoed Joan. 

“Sure. It ’ll be great fun,” replied Kells, with a 
laugh. “Here—sit down and eat with me. . . . Bate, 
come along lively with breakfast. . . . It’s fine to see 
you there. That mask changes you, though. No 
one can see how pretty you are. . . . Joan, your ad¬ 
mirer, Gulden, has been incapacitated for the 
present.” 

Then in evident satisfaction Kells repeated the 
story that Joan had heard Red Pearce tell the night 
before; and in the telling Kells enlarged somewhat 
upon Jim Cleve. 

“I’ve taken a liking to Cleve,” said Kells. “He’s 
a strange youngster. But he’s more man than boy. 

141 


THE BORDER LEGION 

I think he’s broken-hearted over some rotten girl 
who’s been faithless or something. Most women 
are no good, Joan. A while ago I’d have said all 
women were that, but since I’ve known you I think 
—I know different. Still, one girl out of a million 
doesn’t change a world.” 

“What will this J-jim C-cleve do—when he sees 
-—me?” asked Joan, and she choked over the name. 

“Don’t eat so fast, girl,” said Kells. “You’re 
only seventeen years old and you’ve plenty of 
time. . . . Well, I’ve thought some about Cleve. 
He’s not crazy like Gulden, but he’s just as danger¬ 
ous. He’s dangerous because he doesn’t know what 
he’s doing—has absolutely no fear of death—and 
then he’s swift with a gun. That’s a bad combina¬ 
tion. Cleve will kill a man presently. He’s shot 
three already, and in Gulden’s case he meant to 
kill. If once he kills a man—that ’ll make him a 
gun-fighter. I’ve worried a little about his seeing 
you. But I can manage him, I guess. He can’t 
be scared or driven. But he may be led. I’ve had 
Red Pearce tell him you are my wife. I hope he 
believes it, for none of the other fellows believe it- 
Anyway, you’ll meet this Cleve soon, maybe to-day, 
and I want you to be friendly. If I can steady him 
—stop his drinking—he’ll be the best man for me on 
this border.” 

“I’m to help persuade him to join your band ? 59 
asked Joan, and she could not yet control her voice 0 

“Is that so black a thing?” queried Kells, evi¬ 
dently nettled, and he glared at her. 

“I—I don’t know,” faltered Joan. “Is this—this 
boy a criminal yet?” 


142 


THE BORDER LEGION 


33 No. He’s only a fine, decent young chap gone 
wild—gone bad for some girl. I told you that. 
You don’t seem to grasp the point. If I can control 
him he’ll be of value to me—he’ll be a bold and 
clever and dangerous man—he’ll last out here. If 
I can’t win him, why, he won’t last a week longer. 
He’ll be shot or knifed in a brawl. Without my 
control Cleve ’ll go straight to the hell he’s headed 
for.” 

Joan pushed back her plate and, looking up, 
steadily eyed the bandit. 

“ Kells, I’d rather he ended his—his career quick 
—and went to—to—than live to be a bandit and 
murderer at your command.” 

Kells laughed mockingly, yet the savage action 
with which he threw his cup against the wall attested 
to the fact that Joan had strange power to hurt him. 

“That’s your sympathy, because I told you some 
girl drove him out here,” said the bandit. “He’s 
done for. You’ll know that the moment you see 
him. I really think he or any man out here would 
be the better for my interest. Now, I want to know 
if you’ll stand by me—put in a word to help influence 
this wild boy.” 

“I’ll—I’ll have to see him first,” replied Joan. 

“Well, you take it sort of hard,” growled Kells. 
Then presently he brightened. “I seem always to 
forget that you’re only a kid. Listen! Now you 
do as you like. But I want to warn you that you’ve 
got to get back the same kind of nerve”—here he 
lowered his voice and glanced at Bate Wood—“that 
you showed when you shot me. You’re going to 
see some sights. „ . . A great gold strike! Men 
143 


THE BORDER LEGION 


grown gold-mad! Women of no more account than 
a puff of cottonseed! . . . Hunger, toil, pain, disease, 
starvation, robbery, blood, murder, hanging, death— 
all nothing, nothing! There will be only gold. 
Sleepless nights-—days of hell—rush and rush—all 
strangers with greedy eyes! The things that made 
life will be forgotten and life itself will be cheap. 
There will be only that yellow stuff—gold—over 
which men go mad and women sell their souls!” 

After breakfast Kells had Joan’s horse brought 
out of the corral and saddled. 

“You must ride some every day. You must 
keep in condition,” he said. “Pretty soon we may 
have a chase, and I don’t want it to tear you to 
pieces.” 

“Where shall I ride?” asked Joan. 

“Anywhere you like up and down the gulch/* 

“Are you going to have me watched?” 

“Not if you say you won’t run off.” 

“You trust me?” 

“Yes.” 

“All right. I promise. And if I change my mind 
I’ll tell you.” 

“Lord! don’t do it, Joan. I—I— Well, you’ve 
come to mean a good deal to me. I don’t know what 
I’d do if I lost you.” As she mounted the horse 
Kells added, “Don’t stand any raw talk from any 
of the gang.” 

Joan rode away, pondering in mind the strange 
fact that though she hated this bandit, yet she had 
softened toward him. His eyes lit when he saw her; 
his voice mellowed; his manner changed. He had 
144 


THE BORDER LEGION 


meant to tell her again that he loved her, yet he con¬ 
trolled it. Was he ashamed? Had he seen into the 
depths of himself and despised what he had im¬ 
agined love? There were antagonistic forces at war 
within him. 

It was early morning and a rosy light tinged the 
fresh green. She let the eager horse break into a 
canter and then a gallop; and she rode up the gulch 
till the trail started into rough ground. Then turn¬ 
ing, she went back, down under the pines and by the 
cabins, to where the gulch narrowed its outlet into 
the wide valley. Here she met several dusty horse¬ 
men driving a pack-train. One, a jovial ruffian, 
threw up his hands in mock surrender. 

“Hands up, pards!” he exclaimed. “Reckon 
we’ve run agin’ Dandy Dale come to life.” 

His companions made haste to comply and then 
the three regarded her with bold and roguish eyes. 
Joan had run square into them round a comer of 
slope and, as there was no room to pass, she had 
halted. 

“Shore it’s the Dandy Dale we heerd of,” vouch¬ 
safed another. 

“Thet’s Dandy’s outfit with a girl inside,” added 
the third. 

Joan wheeled her horse and rode back up the 
trail. The glances of these ruffians seemed to scorch 
her with the reality of her appearance. She wore 
a disguise, but her womanhood was more manifest 
in it than in her feminine garb. It attracted the 
bold glances of these men. If there were any pos¬ 
sible decency among them, this outrageous bandit 
costume rendered it null. How could she ever con- 
145 


THE BORDER LEGION 

tinue to wear it? Would not something good and 
sacred within her be sullied by a constant exposure 
to the effect she had upon these vile border men? 
She did not think it could while she loved Jim Cleve; 
and with thought of him came a mighty throb of 
her heart to assure her that nothing mattered if 
only she could save him. 

Upon the return trip up the gulch Joan found men 
in sight leading horses, chopping wood, stretching 
arms in cabin doors. Joan avoided riding near 
them, yet even at a distance she was aware of their 
gaze. One rowdy, half hidden by a window, curved 
hands round his mouth and called, softly, “Hullo, 
sweetheart!” 

Joan was ashamed that she could feel insulted* 
She was amazed at the temper which seemed roused 
in her. This border had caused her feelings she 
had never dreamed possible to her. Avoiding the 
trail, she headed for the other side of the gulch. 
There were clumps of willows along the brook 
through which she threaded a way, looking for a good 
place to cross. The horse snorted for water. Ap¬ 
parently she was not going to find any better cross¬ 
ing, so she turned the horse into a narrow lane 
through the willows and, dismounting on a mossy 
bank, she slipped the bridle so the horse could 
drink. 

Suddenly she became aware that she was not 
alone. But she saw no one in front of her or on the 
other side of her horse. Then she turned. Jim 
Cleve was in the act of rising from his knees. He had 
a towel in his hand. His face was wet. He stood 
no more than ten steps from her. 

146 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Joan could not have repressed a little cry to save 
her life. The surprise was tremendous. She could 
not move a finger. She expected to hear him call 
her name. 

Cleve stared at her. His face, in the morning 
light, was as drawn and white as that of a corpse. 
Only his eyes seemed alive and they were flames. 
A lightning flash of scorn leaped to them. He only 
recognized in her a woman, and his scorn was for 
the creature that bandit garb proclaimed her to be. 
A sad and bitter smile crossed his face; and then it 
was followed by an expression that was a lash upon 
Joan’s bleeding spirit. He looked at her shapely 
person with something of the brazen and evil glance 
that had been so revolting to her in the eyes of those 
ruffians. That was the unexpected—the impossible 
—in connection with Jim Cleve. How could she 
stand there under it—and live? 

She jerked at the bridle, and, wading blindly across 
the brook, she mounted somehow, and rode with 
blurred sight back to the cabin. Kells appeared 
busy with men outside and did not accost her. She 
fled to her cabin and barricaded the door. 

Then she hid her face on her bed, covered herself 
to shut out the light, and lay there, broken-hearted. 
What had been that other thing she had imagined 
was shame—that shrinking and burning she had suf¬ 
fered through Kells and his men? What was that 
compared to this awful thing? A brand of red-hot 
pitch, blacker and bitterer than death, had been 
struck brutally across her soul. By the man she 
loved—whom she would have died to save! Jim 
Cleve had seen in her only an abandoned creature of 
i47 


THE BORDER LEGION 


the camps. His sad and bitter smile had been for 
the thought that he could have loved anything of her 
sex. His scorn had been for the betrayed youth 
and womanhood suggested by her appearance. 
And then the thing that struck into Joan’s heart 
was the fact that her grace and charm of person, 
revealed by this costume forced upon her, had 
roused Jim Cleve’s first response to the evil surround* 
ing him, the first call to that baseness he must be 
assimilating from these border ruffians. That he 
could look at her so! The girl he had loved! Joan’s 
agony lay not in the circumstance of his being as 
mistaken in her character as he had been in her 
identity, but that she, of all women, had to be the 
one who made him answer, like Kells and Gulden 
and all those ruffians, to the instincts of a beast. 

“Oh, he’d been drunk—he was drunk!’’ whispered 
Joan. “He isn’t to be blamed. He’s not my old 
Jim. He’s suffering—he’s changed—he doesn’t care. 
What could I expect—standing there like a hussy 
before him—in this—this indecent rig? ... I must 
see him. I must tell him. If he recognized me 
now—and I had no chance to tell him why I’m here 
—why I look like this—that I love him—am still 
good—and true to him—if I couldn’t tell him I’d— 
I’d shoot myself!” 

Joan sobbed out the final words and then broke 
down. And when the spell had exercised its sway, 
leaving her limp and shaken and weak, she was the 
better for it. Slowly calmness returned so that she 
could look at her wild and furious rush from the spot 
where she had faced Jim Cleve, at the storm of 
shame ending in her collapse. She realized that if 
148 


THE BORDER LEGION 


she had met Jim Cleve here in the dress in which she 
had left home there would have been the same shock 
of surprise and fear and love. She owed part of that 
breakdown to the suspense she had been under and 
then the suddenness of the meeting. Looking back 
at her agitation, she felt that it had been natural— 
that if she could only tell the truth to Jim Cleve the 
situation was not impossible. But the meeting, and 
all following it, bore tremendous revelation of how 
through all this wild experience she had learned to 
love Jim Cleve. But for his reckless flight and her 
blind pursuit, and then the anxiety, fear, pain, toil, 
and despair, she would never have known her 
woman’s heart and its capacity for love. 


CHAPTER XI 


F OLLOWING that meeting, with all its power to 
change and strengthen Joan, there were un¬ 
eventful days in which she rode the gulch trails 
and grew able to stand the jests and glances of the 
bandit’s gang. She thought she saw and heard 
everything, yet insulated her true self in a callous 
and unreceptive aloofness from all that affronted her. 

The days were uneventful because, while always 
looking for Jim Cleve, she never once saw him. 
Several times she heard his name mentioned. He 
was here and there—at Beard’s, off in the mountains. 
But he did not come to Kells’s cabin, which fact, 
Joan gathered, had made Kells anxious. He did not 
want to lose Cleve. Joan peered from her covert 
in the evenings, and watched for Jim, and grew 
weary of the loud talk and laughter, the gambling 
and smoking and drinking. When there seemed no 
more chance of Cleve’s coming, then Joan went to 
bed. 

On these occasions Joan learned that Kells was 
passionately keen to gamble, that he was a weak 
hand at cards, an honest gambler, and, strangely 
enough, a poor loser. Moreover, when he lost he 
drank heavily, and under the influence of drink hs 
was dangerous. There were quarrels when curses 

150 


THE BORDER LEGION 


rang throughout the cabin, when guns were drawn-, 
but whatever Kells’s weaknesses might be, he was 
strong and implacable in the governing of these 
men. 

That night when Gulden strode into the cabin was 
certainly not uneventful for Joan. Sight of him 
sent a chill to her marrow while a strange thrill of 
fire inflamed her. Was that great hulk of a gorilla 
prowling about to meet Jim Cleve? Joan thought 
that it might be the worse for him if he were. Then 
she shuddered a little to think that she had already 
been influenced by the wildness around her. 

Gulden appeared well and strong, and but for the 
bandage on his head would have been as she re¬ 
membered him. He manifested interest in the 
gambling, but he returned the friendly greetings of 
the players by surly grunts. Presently he said some¬ 
thing to Kells. 

“What?” queried the bandit, sharply, wheeling, 
the better to see Gulden. 

The noise subsided. One gamester laughed know¬ 
ingly. 

“Lend me a sack of dust?” asked Gulden. 

Kells’s face showed amaze and then a sudden 
brightness. 

“What! You want gold from me?” 

“Yes. I’ll pay it back.” 

“Gulden, I wasn’t doubting that. But does your 
asking mean you’ve taken kindly to my proposi¬ 
tion?” 

“You can take it that way,” growled Gulden. 
“I want gold.” 

“I’m mighty glad, Gulden,” replied Kells, and he 


THE BORDER LEGION 

looked as if he meant it. “I need you. We ought 
to get along. . . . Here.” 

He handed a small buckskin sack to Gulden. 
Some one made room for him on the other side of the 
table, and the game was resumed. It was interesting 
to watch them gamble. Red Pearce had a scale at 
his end of the table, and he was always measuring 
and weighing out gold-dust. The value of the gold 
appeared to be fifteen dollars to the ounce, but the 
real value of money did not actuate the gamblers. 
They spilled the dust on the table and ground as if it 
were as common as sand. Still there did not seem 
to be any great quantity of gold in sight. Evidently 
these were not profitable times for the bandits. 
More than once Joan heard them speak of a gold 
strike as honest people spoke of good fortune. And 
these robbers could only have meant that in case of a 
rich strike there would be gold to steal. Gulden 
gambled as he did everything else. At first he won 
and then he lost, and then he borrowed more from 
Kells, to win again. He paid back as he had bor¬ 
rowed and lost and won—without feeling. He had 
no excitement. Joan’s intuition convinced her that 
if Gulden had any motive at all in gambling it was 
only an antagonism to men of his breed. Gambling 
was a contest, a kind of fight. 

Most of the men except Gulden drank heavily 
that night. There had been fresh liquor come with 
the last pack-train. Many of them were drunk 
when the game broke up. Red Pearce and Wood 
remained behind with Kells after the others had 
gone, and Pearce was clever enough to cheat KelL 
before he left. 


152 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“Boss—thet there Red double-crossed you,” said 
Bate Wood. 

Kells had lost heavily, and he was under the in¬ 
fluence of drink. He drove Wood out of the cabin, 
cursing him sullenly. Then he put in place the 
several bars that served as a door of his cabin. After 
that he walked unsteadily around, and all about his 
action and manner that was not aimless seemed 
to be dark and intermittent staring toward Joan’s 
cabin. She felt sickened again with this new aspect 
of her situation, but she was not in the least afraid 
of Kells. She watched him till he approached her 
door and then she drew back a little. He paused 
before the blanket as if he had been impelled to halt 
from fear. He seemed to be groping in thought. 
Then he cautiously and gradually, by degrees, drew 
aside the blanket. He could not see Joan in the 
darkness, but she saw him plainly. He fumbled at 
the poles, and, finding that he could not budge them, 
he ceased trying. There was nothing forceful or 
strong about him, such as was manifest when he was 
sober. He stood there a moment, breathing heavily, 
in a kind of forlorn, undecided way, and then he 
turned back. Joan heard him snap the lanterns. 
The lights went out and all grew dark and silent. 

Next morning at breakfast he was himself again, 
and if he had any knowledge whatever of his actions 
while he was drunk, he effectually concealed it from 
Joan. 

Later, when Joan went outside to take her usual 
morning exercise, she was interested to see a rider 
tearing up the slope on a foam-flecked horse. Men 
i53 


THE BORDER LEGION 


shouted at him from the cabins and then followed 
without hats or coats. Bate Wood dropped Joan’s 
saddle and called to Kells. The bandit came hur¬ 
riedly out. 

“Blicky!” he exclaimed, and then he swore under 
his breath in elation. 

“Shore is Blicky!” said Wood, and his unusually 
mild eyes snapped with a glint unpleasant for Joan 
to see. 

The arrival of this Blicky appeared to be occasion 
for excitement and Joan recalled the name as be¬ 
longing to one of Kells’s trusted men. He swung his 
leg and leaped from his saddle as the horse plunged 
to a halt. Blicky was a lean, bronzed young man, 
scarcely out of his teens, but there were years of 
hard life in his face. He slapped the dust in little 
puffs from his gloves. At sight of Kells he threw the 
gloves aloft and took no note of them when they fell. 
“Strike!” he called, piercingly. 

“No!” ejaculated Kells, intensely. 

Bate Wood let out a whoop which was answered 
by the men hurrying up the slope. 

“Been on—for weeks!” panted Blicky. “It’s big. 
Can’t tell how big. Me an’ Jesse Smith an’ Handy 
Oliver hit a new road—over here fifty miles as a 
crow flies—a hundred by trail. We was plumb sur¬ 
prised. An’ when we met pack-trains an’ riders an’ 
prairie-schooners an’ a stage-coach we knew there 
was doin’s over in the Bear Mountain range. When 
we came to the edge of the diggin’s an’ seen a whalin’ 
big camp—like a beehive—Jesse an’ Handy went 
on to get the lay of the land an’ I hit the trail back 
to you. I’ve been a-comin’ on an’ off since before 
i54 


THE BORDER LEGION 


sundown yesterday. . . . Jesse gave one look an’ then 
hollered. He said, ‘Tell Jack it’s big an’ he wants to 
plan big. We’ll be back there in a day or so with 
all details.’” 

Joan watched Kells intently while he listened to 
this breathless narrative of a gold strike, and she 
was repelled by the singular flash of brightness—a 
radiance—that seemed to be in his eyes and on his 
face. He did not say a word, but his men shouted 
hoarsely around Blicky; He walked a few paces to 
and fro with hands strongly clenched, his lips 
slightly parted, showing teeth close-shut like those 
of a mastiff. He looked eager, passionate, cun¬ 
ning, hard as steel, and that strange brightness 
of elation slowly shaded to a dark, brooding men¬ 
ace. Suddenly he wheeled to silence the noisy 
men. 

“Where ’re Pearce and Gulden? Do they know?” 
he demanded. 

“Reckon no one knows but who’s right here,” 
replied Blicky. 

“Red an’ Gul are sleepin’ off last night’s luck,” 
said Bate Wood. 

“Have any of you seen young Cleve?” Kells went 
on. His voice rang quick and sharp. 

No one spoke, and presently Kells cracked his fist 
into his open hand. 

“Come on. Get the gang together at Beard’s. . . 
Boys, the time we’ve been gambling on has come. 
Jesse Smith saw ’49 and ’51. He wouldn’t send 
me word like this—unless there was hell to pay. . . . 
Come on!” 

He strode off down the slope with the men close 
155 


11 


THE BORDER LEGION 


around him, and they met other men on the way, 
all of whom crowded into the group, jostling, eager, 
gesticulating. 

Joan was left alone. She felt considerably per¬ 
turbed, especially at Kells’s sharp inquiry for Jim 
Cleve. Kells might persuade him to join that bandit 
legion. These men made Joan think of wolves, with 
Kells the keen and savage leader. No one had 
given a thought to Blicky’s horse and that neglect 
in border men was a sign of unusual preoccupation. 
The horse was in bad shape. Joan took off his 
saddle and bridle, and rubbed the dust-caked lather 
from his flanks, and led him into the corral. Then 
she fetched a bucket of water and let him drink 
sparingly, a little at a time. 

Joan did not take her ride that morning. Anxious 
and curious, she waited for the return of Kells. 
But he did not come. All afternoon Joan waited 
and watched, and saw no sign of him or any of the 
other men. She knew Kells was forging with red- 
hot iron and blood that organization which she un- 
designedly had given a name—the Border Legion. 
It would be a terrible legion, of that she was assured. 
Kells was the evil genius to create an unparalleled 
scheme of crime; this wild and remote border, with 
its inaccessible fastness for hiding-places, was the 
place; all that was wanting was the time, which 
evidently had arrived. She remembered how her 
uncle had always claimed that the Bear Mountain 
range would see a gold strike which would disrupt 
the whole West and amaze the world. And Blicky 
had said a big strike had been on for weeks. Kells’s 
prophecy of the wild life Joan would see had not 
156 


THE BORDER LEGION 


been without warrant. She had already seen enough 
to whiten her hair, she thought, yet she divined her 
experience would shrink in comparison with what 
was to come. Always she lived in the future. She 
spent sleeping and waking hours in dreams, thoughts, 
actions, broodings, over all of which hung an ever¬ 
present shadow of suspense. When would she meet 
Jim Cleve again? When would he recognize her? 
What would he do? What could she do? Would 
Kells be a devil or a man at the end? Was there 
any justification of her haunting fear of Gulden— 
of her suspicion that she alone was the cause of his 
attitude toward Kells—of her horror at the un¬ 
shakable presentiment and fancy that he was a 
gorilla and meant to make off with her ? These, and 
a thousand other fears, some groundless, but many 
real and present, besieged Joan and left her little 
peace. What would happen next? 

Toward sunset she grew tired of waiting, and 
hungry, besides, so she went into the cabin and 
prepared her own meal. About dark Kells strode in, 
and it took but a glance for Joan to see that matters 
had not gone to his liking. The man seemed to be 
burning inwardly. Sight of Joan absolutely sur¬ 
prised him. Evidently in the fever of this mo¬ 
mentous hour he had forgotten his prisoner. Then, 
whatever his obsession, he looked like a man whose 
eyes were gladdened at sight of her and who was 
sorry to behold her there. He apologized that her 
supper had not been provided for her and explained 
that he had forgotten. The men had been crazy— 
hard to manage—the issue was not yet settled. He 
spoke gently. Suddenly he had that thoughtful 
i57 


THE BORDER LEGION 


mien which Joan had become used to associating 
with weakness in him. 

“I wish I hadn’t dragged you here,” he said, 
taking her hands. “It’s too late. I can't lose you 0 
. . . But the— other way —isn’t too late!” 

“What way? What do you mean?” asked Joan» 

“Girl, will you ride off with me to-night?” he 
whispered, hoarsely. “I swear I’ll marry you—and 
become an honest man. To-morrow will be too late! 
. . . Will you?” 

Joan shook her head. She was sorry for him. 
When he talked like this he was not Kells, the bandit. 
She could not resist a strange agitation at the in¬ 
tensity of his emotion. One moment he had en¬ 
tered—a bandit leader, planning blood, murder; 
the next, as his gaze found her, he seemed weakened, 
broken, in the shaking grip of a hopeless love for her, 

“Speak, Joan!” he said, with his hands tightening 
and his brow clouding. 

“No, Kells,” she replied. 

“Why? Because I’m a red-handed bandit?” 

“No. Because I—I don’t love you.” 

“But wouldn’t you rather be my wife—and have 
me honest—than become a slave here, eventually 
abandoned to—to Gulden and his cave and his rope?” 
Kells’s voice rose as that other side of him gained 
dominance. 

“Yes, I would. . . . But I know you’ll never harm 
me—or abandon me to—to that Gulden.” 

“How do you know?” he cried, with the blood 
thick at his temples. 

“Because you’re no beast any more. . „ . And yo& 
—you do love me.” 

158 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Kells thrust her from him so fiercely that she 
Dearly fell. 

“Ell get over it. . . . Then look out!” he said, with 
dark bitterness. 

With that he waved her back, apparently ordering 
her to her cabin, and turned to the door, through 
which the deep voices of men sounded nearer and 
nearer. 

Joan stumbled in the darkness up the rude steps 
to her room, and, softly placing the poles in readiness 
to close her door, she composed herself to watch 
and wait. The keen edge of her nerves, almost 
amounting to pain, told her that this night of such 
moment for Kells would be one of singular strain 
and significance for her. But why she could not 
fathom. She felt herself caught by the changing 
tide of events—a tide that must sweep her on to 
flood. Kells had gone outside. The strong* deep 
voices grew less distinct. Evidently the men were 
walking away. In her suspense Joan was disap¬ 
pointed. Presently, however, they returned; they 
had been walking to and fro. After a few moments 
Kells entered alone. The cabin was now so dark 
that Joan could barely distinguish the bandit. 
Then he lighted the lanterns. He hung up several 
on the wall and placed two upon the table. From 
somewhere among his effects he produced a small 
book and a pencil; these, with a heavy, gold- 
mounted gun, he laid on the table before the seat 
he manifestly meant to occupy. That done, he 
began a slow pacing up and down the room, his 
hands behind his back, his head bent in deep and 
absorbing thought. What a dark, sinister, plotting 
iS9 


THE BORDER LEGION 

figure! Joan had seen many men in different atti¬ 
tudes of thought, but here was a man whose mind 
seemed to give forth intangible yet terrible mani¬ 
festations of evil. The inside of that gloomy cabin 
took on another aspect; there was a meaning in the 
saddles and bridles and weapons on the wall; that 
book and pencil and gun seemed to contain the dark 
deeds of wild men; and all about the bandit hovered 
a power sinister in its menace to the unknown and 
distant toilers for gold. 

Kells lifted his head, as if listening, and then the 
whole manner of the man changed. The burden 
that weighed upon him was thrown aside. Like a 
general about to inspect a line of soldiers Kells 
faced the door, keen, stem, commanding. The 
heavy tread of booted men, the clink of spurs, the 
low, muffled sound of voices, warned Joan that the 
gang had arrived. Would Jim Cleve be among 
them? 

Joan wanted a better position in which to watch 
and listen. She thought a moment, and then care¬ 
fully felt her way around to the other side of the 
steps, and here, sitting down with her feet hanging 
over the drop, she leaned against the wall and through 
a chink between the logs had a perfect view of the 
large cabin. The men were filing in silent and in¬ 
tense. Joan counted twenty-seven in all. They 
appeared to fall into two groups, and it was significant 
that the larger group lined up on the side nearest 
Kells, and the smaller back of Gulden. He had re¬ 
moved the bandage, and with a raw, red blotch 
where his right ear had been shot away, he was 
ffldeous. There was some kind of power emanating 


THE BORDER LEGION 


from him, but it was not that which was so keenly 
vital and impelling in Kells. It was brute ferocity, 
dominating by sheer physical force. In any but a 
muscular clash between Kells and Gulden the latter 
must lose. The men back of Gulden were a bearded, 
check-shirted, heavily armed group, the worst of 
that bad lot. All the younger, cleaner-cut men 
like Red Pearce and Frenchy and Beady Jones and 
Williams and the scout Blicky, were on the other 
side. There were two factions here, yet scarcely 
an antagonism, except possibly in the case of Kells. 
Joan felt that the atmosphere was supercharged with 
suspense and fatality and possibility—and anything 
might happen. To her great joy, Jim Cleve was not 
present. 

“Where ’re Beard and Wood?” queried Kells. 

“Workin’ over Beard’s sick hoss,” replied Pearce. 
“They’ll show up by an’ by. Anythin’ you say 
goes with them, you know.” 

“Did you find young Cleve?” 

“No. He camps up in the timber somewneres. 
Reckon he’ll be along, too.” 

Kells sat down at the head of the table, and, 
taking up the little book, he began to finger it while 
his pale eyes studied the men before him. 

“We shuffled the deck pretty well over at Beard’s,” 
he said. “Now for the deal. . . . Who wants cards? 
, . . I’ve organized my Border Legion. I’ll have 
absolute control, whether there ’re ten men or a 
hundred. Now, whose names go down in my book? ” 

Red Pearce stepped up and labored over the 
writing of his name. Blicky, Jones, Williams, and 
others followed suit. They did not speak, but each 
161 


THE BORDER LEGION 


shook hands with the leader. Evidently Keils 
exacted no oath, but accepted each man’s free action 
and his word of honor. There was that about the 
bandit which made such action as binding as ties 
of blood. He did not want men in his Legion who 
had not loyalty to him. He seemed the kind of 
leader to whom men would be true. 

“Kells, say them conditions over again,” re¬ 
quested one of the men, less eager to hurry with the 
matter. 

At this juncture Joan was at once thrilled and 
frightened to see Jim Cleve enter the cabin. He 
appeared whiter of face, almost ghastly, and his 
piercing eyes swept the room, from Kells to Gulden, 
from men to men. Then he leaned against the wall, 
indistinct in the shadow. Kells gave no sign that 
he had noted the advent of Cleve. 

“I’m the leader,” replied Kells, deliberately, 
“I’ll make the plans. I’ll issue orders. No jobs 
without my knowledge. Equal shares in gold—= 
man to man. . . . Your word to stand by me!” 

A muttering of approval ran through the listening 
group. 

“Reckon I’ll join,” said the man who had wished 
the conditions repeated. With that he advanced 
to the table and, apparently not being able to write e 
he made his mark in the book. Kells wrote the 
name below. The other men of this contingent 
one by one complied with Kells’s requirements. 
This action left Gulden and his group to be dealt 
with. 

“Gulden, are you still on the fence?” demanded 
Kells, coolly. 


162 


THE BORDER LEGION 


The giant strode stolidly forward to the table, 
As always before to Joan, he seemed to be a pon« 
derous hulk, slow, heavy, plodding, with a mind to 
match. 

“Kells, if we can agree I’ll join,” he said in his 
sonorous voice. 

“You can bet you won’t join unless we do agree,” 
snapped Kells. “But—see here, Gulden. Let’s be 
friendly. The border is big enough for both of us. 
I want you. I need you. Still, if we can’t agree, 
let’s not split and be enemies. How about it?” 

Another muttering among the men attested to the 
good sense and good will of Kells’s suggestion. 

“Tell me what you’re going to do—how you’ll 
operate,” replied Gulden. 

Kells had difficulty in restraining his impatience 
and annoyance. 

“What’s that to you or any of you?” he queried. 
“You all know I’m the man to think of things. 
That’s been proved. First it takes brains. I’ll 
furnish them. Then it takes execution. You and 
Pearce and the gang will furnish that.. What more 
do you need to know?” 

“How ’re you going to operate?” persisted Gulden. 

Kells threw up both hands as if it was useless to 
argue or reason with this desperado. 

“All right, I’ll tell you,” he replied. “Listen. . . . 
I can’t say what definite plans I’ll make till Jesse 
Smith reports, and then when I get on the diggings. 
But here’s a working basis. Now don’t miss a word 
of this, Gulden—nor any of you men. We’ll pack 
our outfits down to this gold strike. We’ll build 
cabins on the outskirts of the town, and we won’t 
163 


THE BORDER LEGION 


hang together. The gang will be spread out. Most 
of you must make a bluff at digging gold. Be like 
other miners. Get in with cliques and clans. Dig, 
drink, gamble like the rest of them. Beard will 
start a gambling-place. Red Pearce will find some 
other kind of work. I’ll buy up claims—employ 
miners to work them. I’ll disguise myself and get 
in with the influential men and have a voice in 
matters. You’ll all be scouts. You’ll come to my 
cabin at night to report. We’ll not tackle any little 
jobs. Miners going out with fifty or a hundred 
pounds of gold—the wagons—the stage-coach—- 
these we’ll have timed to rights, and whoever I de¬ 
tail on the job will hold them up. You must all 
keep sober, if that’s possible. You must all ab¬ 
solutely trust to my judgment. You must all go 
masked while on a job. You must never speak a 
word that might direct suspicion to you. In this 
way we may work all summer without detection. 
The Border Legion will become mysterious and 
famous. It will appear to be a large number of men, 
operating all over. The more secretive we are the 
more powerful the effect on the diggings. In gold- 
camps, when there’s a strike, all men are mad. 
They suspect each other. They can’t organize. 
We shall have them helpless. . . . And in short, if it’s 
as rich a strike as looks due here in these hills, before 
winter we can pack out all the gold our horses can 
carry.” 

Kells had begun under restraint, but the sound of 
his voice, the liberation of his great idea, roused him 
to a passion. The man radiated with passion, 
This, then, was his dream—the empire he aspired to 
164 


THE BORDER LEGION 

He had a powerful effect upon his listeners, except 
Gulden; and it was evident to Joan that the keen 
bandit was conscious of his influence. Gulden, how¬ 
ever, showed nothing that he had not already showed. 
He was always a strange, dominating figure. He 
contested the relations of things. Kells watched 
him—the men watched him—and Jim Cleve’s pierc¬ 
ing eyes glittered in the shadow, fixed upon that mas¬ 
sive face. Manifestly Gulden meant to speak, but 
in his slowness there was no laboring, no pause from 
emotion. He had an idea and it moved like he 
moved. 

“Dead men tell no tales!” The words boomed deep 
from his cavernous chest, a mutter that was a rumble, 
with something almost solemn in its note and cer¬ 
tainly menacing, breathing murder. As Kells had 
propounded his ideas, revealing his power to devise a 
remarkable scheme and his passion for gold, so 
Gulden struck out with the driving inhuman blood- 
lust that must have been the twist, the knot, the 
clot in his brain. Kells craved notoriety and gold; 
Gulden craved to kill. In the silence that followed 
his speech these wild border ruffians judged him, 
measured him, understood him, and though some of 
them grew farther aloof from him, more of them 
sensed the safety that hid in his terrible implication 

But Kells rose against him. 

“Gulden, you mean when we steal gold—to leave 
only dead men behind ?” he queried, with a hiss in 
Ms voice. 

The giant nodded grimly. 

44 But only fools kill—unless in self-defense / 9 de 
.dared Kells, passionately. 

i6s 


THE BORDER LEGION 

^We’d last longer,” replied Gulden, imperturt^ 
ably. 

“No—no. We’d never last so long. Killings 
rouse a mining-camp after a while—gold fever or no. 
That means a vigilante band.” 

“We can belong to the vigilantes, just as well 
as to your Legion,” said Gulden. 

The effect of this was to make Gulden appear less 
of a fool than Kells supposed him. The ruffians 
nodded to one another. They stirred restlessly. 
They were animated by a strange and provocative 
influence. Even Red Pearce and the others caught 
its subtlety. It was evil predominating in evil 
hearts. Blood and death loomed like a shadow here. 
The keen Kells saw the change working toward a 
transformation and he seemed craftily fighting some¬ 
thing within him that opposed this cold ruthlessness 1 
of his men. 

“Gulden, suppose I don’t see it your way?” he 
asked. 

“Then I won’t join your Legion.” 

“What will you do?” 

“I’ll take the men who stand by me and go clean 
up that gold-camp.” 

From the fleeting expression on Kells’s face Joan 
read that he knew Gulden’s project would defeat 
his own and render both enterprises fatal. 

“Gulden, I don’t want to lose you,” he said. 

“You won’t lose me if you see this thing right,” 
replied Gulden. “You’ve got the brains to ‘direct 
us. But, Kells, you’re losing your nerve, . . „ It’s 
this girl you’ve got here!” 

Gulden spoke without rancor or fear or feeling 
166 


THE BORDER LEGION . 


of any kind. He merely spoke the truth. And it 
shook Kells with an almost ungovernable fury. 

Joan saw the green glare of his eyes—his gray 
working face—the flutter of his hand. She had an 
almost superhuman insight into the workings of his 
mind. She knew that then he was fighting whether 
or not to kill Gulden on the spot. And she recog¬ 
nized that this was the time when Kells must kill 
Gulden or from that moment see a gradual diminish¬ 
ing of his power on the border. But Kells did not 
recognize that crucial height of his career. His 
struggle with his fury and hate showed that the 
thing uppermost in his mind was the need of con¬ 
ciliating Gulden and thus regaining a hold over the 
men. 

“ Gulden, suppose we waive the question till 
we’re on the grounds?” he suggested. 

‘‘Waive nothing. It’s one or the other with me,” 
declared Gulden. 

“Do you want to be leader of this Border Legion?” 
went on Kells, deliberately. 

“No.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

Gulden appeared at a loss for an instant reply. 
“I want plenty to do,” he replied, presently. 
“I want to be in on everything. I want to be free 
to kill a man when I like.” 

“When you like!” retorted Kells, and added a 
curse. Then as if by magic his dark face cleared 
and there was infinite depth and craftiness in him. 
His opposition, and that hint of hate and loathing 
which detached him from Gulden, faded from his 
bearing, “Gulden, I’ll split the difference between 
167 


THE BORDER LEGION 


us. I’ll leave you free to do as you like. But all 
the others — every man — must take orders from 
me.” 

Gulden reached out a huge hand. His instant 
acceptance evidently amazed Kells and the others. 

“Let her rip /” Gulden exclaimed. He shook 
Kells’s hand and then laboriously wrote his name 
in the little book. 

In that moment Gulden stood out alone in the 
midst of wild abandoned men. What were Kells 
and this Legion to him? What was the stealing of 
more or less gold ? 

“Free to do as you like except fight my men / 9 
said Kells. “That’s understood.” 

“If they don’t pick a fight with me,” added the 
giant, and he grinned. 

One by one his followers went through with the 
simple observances that Kells’s personality made a 
serious and binding compact. 

“Anybody else?” called Kells, glancing round. 
The somberness was leaving his face. 

“Here’s Jim Cleve,” said Pearce, pointing toward 
the wall. 

“Hello, youngster! Come here. I’m wanting 
you bad,” said Kells. 

Cleve sauntered out of the shadow, and his 
glittering eyes were fixed on Gulden* There was an 
instant of waiting. Gulden looked at Cleve. Then 
Kells quickly strode between them. 

“Say, I forgot you fellows had trouble,” he said. 
He attended solely to Gulden. “You can’t renew 
your quarrel now. Gulden, we’ve all fought to¬ 
gether more or less, and then been good friends, 
168 


THE BORDER LEGION 


I want Cleve to join us, but not against your ill 
will. How about it?” 

“Eve no ill will,” replied the giant, and the 
strangeness of his remark lay in its evident truth. 
“But I won’t stand to lose my other ear!” 

Then the ruffians guffawed in hoarse mirth. 
Gulden, however, did not seem to see any humor in 
his remark. Kells laughed with the rest. Even 
Cleve’s white face relaxed into a semblance of a 
smile. 

“That’s good. We’re getting together,” declared 
Kells. Then he faced Cleve, all about him expres¬ 
sive of elation, of assurance, of power. “Jim, will 
you draw cards in this deal?” 

“What’s the deal?” asked Cleve. 

Then in swift, eloquent speech Kells launched the 
idea of his Border Legion, its advantages to any 
loose-footed, young outcast, and he ended his brief 
talk with much the same argument he, had given 
Joan. Back there in her covert Joan listened and 
watched, mindful of the great need of controlling her 
emotions. The instant Jim Cleve had stalked into 
the light she had been seized by a spasm of trembling. 

“Kells, I don’t care two straws one way or an¬ 
other,” replied Cleve. 

The bandit appeared nonplussed. “You don’t 
care whether you join my Legion or whether you 
don’t?” 

“Not a damn,” was the indifferent answer. 

“Then do me a favor,” went on Kells. “Join to 
please me. We’ll be good friends. You’re in bad 
out here on the border. You might as well fall in 
’With us/" 


169 


THE BORDER LEGION 


J 4 I’d rather go alone.’* 

‘‘But you won’t last.” 

“It’s a lot I care.” 

The bandit studied the reckless, white face 
“See here, Cleve—haven’t you got the nerve to be 
bad—thoroughly bad?” 

Cleve gave a start as if he had been stung. Joan 
shut her eyes to blot out what she saw in his face, 
Kells had used part of the very speech with which 
she had driven Jim Cleve to his ruin. And those 
words galvanized him. The fatality of all this! 
Joan hated herself. Those very words of hers 
would drive this maddened and heartbroken boy 
to join Kells’s band. She knew what to expect 
from Jim even before she opened her eyes; yet when 
she did open them it was to see him transformed 
and blazing. 

Then Kells either gave way to leaping passion or 
simulated it in the interest of his cunning. 

“Cleve, you’re going down for a woman?” he 
queried, with that sharp, mocking ring in his voiceo 

“If you don’t shut up you’ll get there first,” re¬ 
plied Cleve, menacingly. 

“Bah! . . . Why do you want to throw a gun on 
me? I’m your friend. You’re sick. You’re like a 
poisoned pup. I say if you’ve got nerve you won’t 
quit. You’ll take a run for your money. You’D 
see life. You’ll fight. You’ll win some gold. 
There are other women. Once I thought I would 
quit for a woman. But I didn’t. I never found the 
right one till I had gone to hell—out here on this 
border. ... If you’ve got nerve, show me. Be a man 
instead of a crazy youngster. Spit out the poison 
170 


THE BORDER LEGION 

« . Tell it before us all! „ . . Some girl drove you to 
sis?” 

4 ‘Yes—a girl!” replied Cleve, hoarsely, as if 
goaded, 

“It’s too late to go back?” 

“Too late!” 

“There’s nothing left but wild life that makes you 
forget?” 

“Nothing, „ c o Only I—can’t forget!” he panted., 

Cleve was in a torture of memory, of despair, of 
weakness, Joan saw how Kells worked upon Jim’s 
feelings. He was only a hopeless, passionate boy 
in the hands of a strong, implacable man. He would 
be like wax to a sculptor’s touch. Jim would bend 
to this bandit’s will, and through his very tenacity 
of love and memory be driven farther on the road 
to drink, to gaming, and to crime. 

Joan got to her feet, and with all her woman’s 
soul uplifting and inflaming her she stood ready to 
meet the moment that portended. 

Kells made a gesture of savage violence. “Show 
your nerve! , , . Join with me! . . . You’ll make a 
name on this border that the West will never forget!” 

That last hint of desperate fame was the crafty 
bandit’s best trump. And it won. Cleve swept 
up a weak and nervous hand to brush the hair from 
his damp brow. The keenness, the fire, the aloofness 
had departed from him. He looked shaken as if by 
something that had been pointed out as his own 
cowardice. 

“Sure, Kells,” he said, recklessly. “Let me in the 
game. . . And—by God—I’ll—play—the hand out!” 
He reached for the pencil and bent over the book¬ 
ie 171 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Wait!. . . Oh, wait /” cried Joan. The passion of 
that moment, the consciousness of its fateful portent 
and her situation, as desperate as Cleve’s, gave her 
voice a singularly high and piercingly sweet intensity* 
She glided from behind the blanket—out of the shad¬ 
ow—into the glare of the lanterns—to face Kells and 
Cleve. 

Kells gave one astounded glance at her, and then, 
divining her purpose, he laughed thrillingly and 
mockingly, as if the sight of her was a spur, as if her 
courage was a thing to admire, to permit, and to 
regret. 

“Cleve, my wife, Dandy Dale,” he said, suave and 
cool. ‘ ‘ Let her persuade you—one way or another!” 

The presence of a woman, however disguised, fol¬ 
lowing her singular appeal, transformed Cleve. He 
stiifened erect and the flush died out of his face, 
leaving it whiter than ever, and the eyes that had 
grown dull quickened and began to bum. Joan 
felt her cheeks blanch. She all but fainted under 
that gaze. But he did not recognize her, though b£ 
was strangely affected. 

“Wait!” she cried again, and she held to that high 
voice, so different from her natural tone. ‘‘I’ve been 
listening. I’ve heard all that’s been said. Don’t 
join this Border Legion. . . . You’re young—and still 
honest. For God’s sake—don’t go the way of these 
men! Kells will make you a bandit. . . . Go home— 
boy—go home!” 

“Who are you—to speak to me of honesty—of 
home?” Cleve demanded. 

“I’m only a—a woman. . . . But I can feel how 
wrong you are. ... Go back to that girl—who—who 
172 


THE BORDER LEGION 


drove you to the border. . . . She must repent. In a 
day you’ll be too late. . . . Oh, boy, go home! Girls 
never know their minds—their hearts. Maybe your 
girl—loved you! . . . Oh, maybe her heart is breaking 
now!” 

A strong, muscular ripple went over Cleve, ending 
in a gesture of fierce protest. Was it pain her words 
caused, or disgust that such as she dared mention 
the girl he had loved? Joan could not tell. She 
only knew that Cleve was drawn by her presence, 
fascinated and repelled, subtly responding to the 
spirit of her, doubting what he heard and believing 
with his eyes. 

“You beg me not to become a bandit?” he asked, 
slowly, as if revolving a strange idea. 

“Oh, I implore you!” 

“Why?” 

“I told you. Because you’re still good at hearto 
You’ve only been wild. . . . Because—” 

“Are you the wife of Kells?” he flashed at her. 

A reply seemed slowly wrenched from Joan’s re¬ 
luctant lips. “No!” 

The denial left a silence behind it. The truth that 
all knew, when spoken by her was a kind of shock. 
The ruffians gaped in breathless attention. Kells 
looked on with a sardonic grin, but he had grown pale. 
And upon the face of Cleve shone an immeasurable 
scorn. 

“Not his wife!” exclaimed Cleve. softly. 

His tone was unendurable to Joan. She began 
to shrink. A flame curled within her. How he 
must hate any creature of her sex! 

“And you appeal to me!” he went on. Suddenly 


THE BORDER LEGION 


a weariness came over him. The complexity of 
women was beyond him. Almost he turned his back 
upon her. “I reckon such as you can’t keep me 
from Kells—or blood—or hell!” 

“Then you’re a narrow-souled weakling—bom to 
crime!” she burst out in magnificent wrath. “For 
however appearances are against me—I am a good 
woman!” 

That stunned him, just as it drew Kells upright, 
white and watchful. Cleve seemed long in grasping 
its significance. His face was half averted. Then 
he turned slowly, all strung, and his hands clutched 
quiveringly at the air. No man of coolness and 
judgment would have addressed him or moved a 
step in that strained moment. All expected some 
such action as had marked his encounter with Luce 
and Gulden. 

Then Cleve’s gaze in unmistakable meaning swept 
over Joan’s person. How could her appearance and 
her appeal be reconciled? One was a lie! And his 
burning eyes robbed Joan of spirit. 

“He forced me to—to wear these,” she faltered, 
“I’m his prisoner. I’m helpless.” 

With catlike agility Cleve leaped backward, so 
that he faced all the men, and when his hands swept 
to a level they held gleaming guns. His utter 
abandon of daring transfixed these bandits in surprise 
as much as fear. Kells appeared to take most to 
himself the menace. 

“J crawl!” he said, huskily. “She speaks the 
God’s truth... . But you can’t help matters by killin g 
me. Maybe she’d be worse off.” 

He expected this wild boy to break loose, yet hi$ 
i74 


THE BORDER LEGION 

mt directed him to speak the one thing calculated 
to check Cleve. 

“Oh, don’t shoot!” moaned Joan. 

“You go outside,” ordered Cleve. “Get on a 
horse and lead another near the door. ... Go! I’ll 
take you away from this.” 

Both temptation and terror assailed Joan. Surely 
that venture would mean only death to Jim and 
worse for her. She thrilled at the thought—at the 
possibility of escape—at the strange front of this 
erstwhile nerveless boy. But she had not the 
courage for what seemed only desperate folly. 

“I’ll stay,” she whispered. “You go!” 

“Hurry, woman!” 

“No! No!” 

“Do you want to stay with this bandit?” 

“Oh, I must!” 

“Then you love him?” 

All the fire of Joan’s heart flared up to deny the 
insult and all her woman’s cunning fought to keep 
back words that inevitably must lead to revelation. 
She drooped, unable to hold up under her shame, 
yet strong to let him think vilely of her, for his sake. 
That way she had a barest chance. 

“Get out of my sight!” he ejaculated, thickly 0 
“I’d have fought for you.” 

Again that white, weary scorn radiated from him, 
Joan bit her tongue to keep from screaming. How 
could she live under this torment? It was she, Joan 
Randle, that had earned that scorn, whether he knew 
her or not. She shrank back, step by step, almost 
dazed, sick with a terrible inward coldness, blinded by 
scalding tears. She found her door and stumbled in. 
i75 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Kells, I’m what you called me.” She heard 
Cleve’s voice, strangely far off. “ There’s no excuse 
o . . unless I’m not just right in my head about 
women. . . . Overlook my break or don’t—as you 
like. But if you want me I’m ready for your Border 
Legion!” 


CHAPTER XII 


T HOSE bitter words of Cleve’s, as if he mocked 
himself, were the last Joan heard, and they 
rang in her ears and seemed to reverberate through 
tier dazed mind like a knell of doom. She lay there, 
all blackness about her, weighed upon by an in¬ 
supportable burden; and she prayed that day might 
never dawn for her; a nightmare of oblivion ended 
at last with her eyes opening to the morning light. 

She was cold and stiff. She had lain uncovered all 
the long hours of night. She had not moved a 
finger since she had fallen upon the bed, crushed by 
those bitter words with which Cleve had consented to 
join Kells’s Legion. Since then Joan felt that she 
had lived years. She could not remember a single 
thought she might have had during those black 
hours; nevertheless, a decision had been formed in 
her mind, and it was -that to-day she would reveal 
herself to Jim Cleve if it cost both their lives. Death 
was infinitely better than the suspense and fear and 
agony she had endured; and as for Jim, it would at 
least save him from crime. 

Joan got up, a little dizzy and unsteady upon her 
feet. Her hands appeared clumsy and shaky. All 
the blood in her seemed to surge from heart to brain 
and it hurt her to breathe. Removing her mask, she 
177 


THE BORDER LEGION 


bathed her face and combed her hair. At first she 
conceived an idea to go out without her face covered, 
but she thought better of it. Cleve’s reckless de¬ 
fiance had communicated itself to her. She could 
not now be stopped. 

Kells was gay and excited that morning. He paid 
her compliments. He said they would soon be out 
of this lonely gulch and she would see the sight of her 
life—a gold strike. She would see men wager a 
fortune on the turn of a card, lose, laugh, and go 
back to the digging. He said he would take her to 
Sacramento and ’Frisco and buy her everything any 
girl could desire. He was wild, voluble, unreason¬ 
ing—obsessed by the anticipated fulfilment of his 
dream. 

It was rather late in the morning and there wer& 
a dozen or more men in and around the cabin, all as 
excited as Kells. Preparations were already under 
way for the expected journey to the gold-field. 
Packs were being laid out, overhauled, and repacked; 
saddles and bridles and weapons were being worked 
over; clothes were being awkwardly mended. 
Horses were being shod, and the job was as hard and 
disagreeable for men as for horses. Whenever a 
rider swung up the slope, and one came every now 
and then, all the robbers would leave off their tasks 
and start eagerly for the new-comer. The name 
Jesse Smith was on everybody’s lips. Any hour he 
might be expected to arrive and corroborate Blicky’s 
alluring tale. 

Joan saw or imagined she saw that the glances in 
the eyes of these men were yellow, like gold fire 0 
178 


THE BORDER LEGION 


She had seen miners and prospectors whose eyes 
shone with a strange glory of light that gold inspired, 
but never as those of Kells’s bandit Legion. Pres¬ 
ently Joan discovered that, despite the excitement, 
her effect upon them was more marked than ever, 
and by a difference that she was quick to feel. But 
she could not tell what this difference was—how 
their attitude had changed. Then she set herself 
the task of being useful. First she helped Bate 
Wood. He was roughly kind. She had not realized 
that there was sadness about her until he whispered: 
“Don’t be downcast, miss. Mebbe it ’ll come out 
right yet!” That amazed Joan. Then his mysteri¬ 
ous winks and glances, the sympathy she felt in him, 
all attested to some kind of a change. She grew 
keen to learn, but she did not know how. She 
felt the change in all the men. Then she went to 
Pearce and with all a woman’s craft she exaggerated 
the silent sadness that had brought quick response 
from Wood. Red Pearce was even quicker. He 
did not seem to regard her proximity as that of a 
feminine thing which roused the devil in him. 
Pearce could not be other than coarse and vulgar, 
but there was pity in him. Joan sensed pity and 
some other quality still beyond her. This lieutenant 
of the bandit Kells was just as mysterious as Wood. 
Joan mended a great jagged rent in his buckskin 
shirt. Pearce appeared proud of her work; he tried 
to joke; he said amiable things. Then as she 
finished he glanced furtively round; he pressed her 
hand: “I had a sister once!’’ he whispered. And 

then with a dark and baleful hate: “Kells! -? 

he’ll get his over in the gold-camp!” 

179 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan turned away from Pearce still more amazedL 
Borne strange, deep undercurrent was working here* 
There had been unmistakable hate for Kells in his 
dark look and a fierce implication in his portent of 
fatality. What had caused this sudden impersonal 
interest in her situation? What was the meaning 
of the subtle animosity toward the bandit leader? 
Was there no honor among evil men banded together 
for evil deeds? Were jealousy, ferocity, hate, and 
faithlessness fostered by this wild and evil border 
life, ready at an instant’s notice to break out? 
Joan divined the vain and futile and tragical nature 
of Kells’s great enterprise. It could not succeed. 
It might bring a few days or weeks of fame, of blood¬ 
stained gold, of riotous gambling, but by its very 
nature it was doomed. It embraced failure and 
death. 

Joan went from man to man, keener now on the 
track of this inexplicable change, sweetly and sadly 
friendly to each; and it was not till she encountered 
the little Frenchman that the secret was revealed, 
Frenchy was of a different race. Deep in the fiber of 
his being had been inculcated a sentiment, a feeling, 
long submerged in the darkness of a wicked life, and 
now that something came fleeting out of the depths— 
and it was respect for a woman. To Joan it was a 
flash of light. Yesterday these ruffians had de 
spisedher; to-day they respected her. So they had 
believed what she had so desperately flung at Jim 
Cleve. They believed her good, they pitied her, 
they respected her, they responded to her effort tc 
turn a boy back from a bad career. They were 
bandits, desperados, murderers, lost, but each 
180 


# 


THE BORDER LEGION 


remembered in her a mother or a sister. What each 
might have felt or done had he possessed her, as 
Kells possessed her, did not alter the case as it stood. 
A strange inconsistency of character made them hate 
Kells for what they might not have hated in them¬ 
selves. Her appeal to Cleve, her outburst of truth, 
her youth and misfortune, had discovered to each a 
human quality. As in Kells something of nobility 
still lingered, a ghost among his ruined ideals, so in 
the others some goodness remained. Joan sus¬ 
tained an uplifting divination—no man was utterly 
bad. Then came the hideous image of the giant 
Gulden, the utter absence of soul in him, and she 
shuddered. Then came the thought of Jim Cleve, 
who had not believed her, who had bitterly made the 
fatal step, who might in the strange reversion of his 
character be beyond influence. 

And it was at the precise moment when this 
thought rose to counteract the hope revived by the 
changed attitude of the men that Joan looked out 
to see Jim Cleve sauntering up, careless, untidy, a 
cigarette between his lips, blue blotches on his white 
face, upon him the stamp of abandonment. Joan 
suffered a contraction of heart that benumbed her 
breast. She stood a moment battling with herself. 
She was brave enough, desperate enough, to walk 
straight up to Cleve, remove her mask, and say, “I 
am Joan!’* But that must be a last resource. She 
had no plan, yet she might force an opportunity to 
me Cleve alone. 

A shout rose above the hubbub of voices. A tall 
man was pointing across the gulch where dust- 
clouds showed above the willows. Men crowded 
181 


THE BORDER LEGION 


round him, all gazing in the direction of his hand, 
all talking at once, 

“Jesse Smith’s hoss, I swear!” shouted the tall 
man. * ‘ Kells, come out here!” 

Kells appeared, dark and eager, at the door, and 
nimbly he leaped to the excited group, Pearce and 
Wood and others followed, 

‘ ‘ What’s up ?” called the bandit, ’ 1 Hello \ Who's 
that riding bareback?” 

“He’s shore cuttin’ the wind,” said Wood. 

4 ‘ Blicky!’ ’ exclaimed the tall man, 6 * Kells there's 

news. I seen Jesse’s hoss.” 

Kells let out a strange, exultant cry The excited 
talk among the men gave place to a subdued mur¬ 
mur, then subsided. Blicky was running a horse up 
the road, hanging low over him, like an Indian. He 
clattered to the bench, scattered the men in all 
directions. The fiery horse plunged and pounded, 
Blicky was gray of face and wild of aspect. 

“Jesse’s come!” he yelled, hoarsely, at Kells, 
“He jest fell off his hoss—all in! He wants you— 
an’ all the gang! He's seen a million dollars in gold- 
dust!" 

Absolute silence ensued after that last swift and 
startling speech. It broke to a commingling of yells 
and shouts. Blicky wheeled his horse and Kells 
started on a run. And there was a stampede and 
rush after him. 

Joan grasped her opportunity. She had seen all 
this excitement, but she had not lost sight of Cleve, 
He got up from a log and started after the others 
Joan flew to him, grasped him, startled him with the 
suddenness of her onslaught. But her tongue 
182 


THE BORDER LEGION 


kerned cloven to the roof of her mouth, her lips 
weak and mute. Twice she strove to speak, 

“Meet me — there! — among the pines — right 
away!” she whispered, with breathless earnestness. 
It's life—or death—for me /” 

As she released his arm he snatched at her mask. 
But she eluded him. 

4 ‘Who are you?” he flashed. 

Kells and his men were piling into the willows, 
leaping the brook, hurrying on. They had no 
thought but to get to Jesse Smith, to hear of the 
gold strike. That news to them was as finding gold 
m the earth was to honest miners. 

“Come!” cried Joan. She hurried away toward 
the comer of the cabin, then halted to see if he was 
following. He was, indeed. She ran round behind 
the cabin, out on the slope, halting at the first trees. 
Cleve came striding after her. She ran on, beginning 
to pant and stumble. The way he strode, the white 
grimness of him, frightened her. What would he 
do? Again she went on, but not running now. 
There were straggling pines and spruces that soon 
hid the cabins. Beyond, a few rods, was a dense 
clump of pines, and she made for that. As she 
reached it she turned fearfully. Only Cleve was in 
sight. She uttered a sob of mingled relief, joy, and 
thankfulness. She and Cleve had not been ob¬ 
served. They would be out of sight in this little 
pine grove. At last! She could reveal herself, tell 
him why she was there, that she loved him, that she 
was as good as ever she had been. Why was she 
shaking like a leaf in the wind? She saw Cleve 
through a blur. He was almost running now. 
183 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Involuntarily she fled into the grove. It was dark 
and cool; it smelled sweetly of pine; there were 
narrow aisles and little sunlit glades. She hurried 
on till a fallen tree blocked her passage. Here she 
turned—she would wait—the tree was good to lean 
against. There came Cleve, a dark, stalking shadow. 
She did not remember him like that. He entered 
the glade. 

‘‘Speak again!” he said, thickly. “Either I’m 
drunk or crazy i” 

But Joan could not speak. She held out hands 
that shook—swept them to her face—tore at the 
mask. Then with a gasp she stood revealed. 

If she had stabbed him straight through the heart 
he could not have been more ghastly. Joan saw 
him, in all the terrible transfiguration that came over 
him, but she had no conceptions, no thought of what 
constituted that change. After that check to her 
mind came a surge of joy. 

“Jim! . . . Jim! It’s Joan!” she breathed, with 
lips almost mute. 

“Joan!” he gasped, and the sound of his voice 
seemed to be the passing from horrible doubt to 
certainty. 

Like a panther he leaped at her, fastened a power¬ 
ful hand at the neck of her blouse, jerked her to her 
knees, and began to drag her. Joan fought his iron 
grasp. The twisting and tightening of her blouse 
choked her utterance. He did not look down upon 
her, but she could see him, the rigidity of his body 
set in violence, the awful shade upon his face, the 
upstanding hair on his head. He dragged her as if 
she had been an empty sack. Like a beast he was 
184 


THE BORDER LEGION 


seeking a dark place—a hole to hide her. She was 
strangling; a distorted sight made objects dim; and 
now she struggled instinctively. Suddenly the 
clutch at her neck loosened; gaspingly came the in¬ 
take of air to her lungs; the dark-red veil left her 
eyes. She was still upon her knees. Cleve stood 
before her, like a gray-faced demon, holding his gun 
level, ready to fire. 

“Pray for your soul—and mine!” 

“Jim! Oh, Jim! . . . Will you kill yourself, too?” 

“Yes! But pray, girl—quick!” 

“Then I pray to God—not for my soul—but 
just for one more moment of life ... to tell you , Jim!” 

Cleve’s face worked and the gun began to waver. 
Her reply had been a stroke of lightning into the 
dark abyss of his jealous agony. 

Joan saw it, and she raised her quivering face, 
and she held up her arms to him. “To tell—you— 
Jim!” she entreated. 

“What?” he rasped out. 

“That I’m innocent—that I’m as good—a girl— 
as ever. . . . Let me tell you. . . . Oh, you’re mistaken 
—terribly mistaken.” 

“Now I know I’m drunk. . . . You, Joan Randle! 
You in that rig! You the companion of Jack Kells! 
Not even his wife! The jest of these foul-mouthed 
bandits! And you say you’re innocent—good? . . . 
When you refused to leave him!” 

“I was afraid to go—afraid you’d be killed,” she 
moaned, beating her breast. 

It must have seemed madness to him, a mon¬ 
strous nightmare, a delirium of drink, that Joan 
Randle was there on her knees in a brazen male 

185 


THE BORDER LEGION 


attire, lifting her arms to him, beseeching him, not 
to spare her life, but to believe in her innocence. 

Joan burst into swift, broken utterance: “Only 
listen! I trailed you out—twenty miles from 
Hoadley. I met Roberts. He came with me. He 
lamed his horse—we had to camp. Kells rode down 
on us. He had two men. They camped there. 
Next morning he—killed Roberts—made off with 
me. . . . Then he killed his men—just to have me— 
alone to himself. ... We crossed a range—camped in 
a canon. There he attacked me—and I—I shot 
him! . . . But I couldn’t leave him—to die!” Joan 
hurried on with her narrative, gaining strength and 
eloquence as she saw the weakening of Cleve. 
“First he said I was his wife to fool that Gulden— 
and the others,” she went on. “He meant it to 
save me from them. But they guessed or found 
out. . . . Kells forced me into these bandit clothes. 
He’s depraved, somehow. And I had to wear some¬ 
thing. Kells hasn’t harmed me—no one has. I’ve 
influence over him. He can’t resist it. He’s tried 
to force me to marry him. And he’s tried to give 
up to his evil intentions. But he can’t. There’s 
good in him. I can make him feel it. . . . Oh, he 
loves me, and I’m not afraid of him any more. ... It 
has been a terrible time for me, Jim, but I’m still— 
the same girl you knew—you used to—” 

Cleve dropped the gun and he waved his hand 
before his eyes as if to dispel a blindness. 

“But why— whyV ’ he asked, incredulously. “Why 
did you leave Hoadley? That’s forbidden. You 
knew the risk.” 

Joan gazed steadily up at him, to see the white- 
186 


THE BORDER LEGION 

ness slowly fade out of his face. She had imagined 
it would be an overcoming of pride to betray her 
love, but she had been wrong. The moment was so 
full, so overpowering that she seemed dumb. He had 
ruined himself for her, and out of that ruin had come 
the glory of her love. Perhaps it was all too late, 
but at least he would know that for love of him she 
had in turn sacrificed herself. 

4 ‘Jim,” she whispered, and with the first word of 
that betrayal a thrill, a tremble, a rush went over 
her, and all her blood seemed hot at her neck and 
face, “that night when you kissed me I was furious. 
But the moment you had gone I repented. I must 
have—cared for you then, but I didn’t know. . . . 
Remorse seized me. And I set out on your trail to 
save you from yourself. And with the pain and 
fear and terror there was sometimes—the—the sweet¬ 
ness of your kisses. Then I knew I cared. . . . And 
with the added days of suspense and agony—all that 
told me of your throwing your life away—there 
came love. . . . Such love as otherwise I’d never 
have been big enough for! I meant to find you—to 
save you—to send you home! . . . I have found you, 
maybe too late to save your life, but not your soul, 
thank God! . . . That’s why I’ve been strong enough 
to hold back Kells. I love you, Jim!... I love you! 
I couldn’t tell you enough. My heart is bursting. 
... Say you believe me!... Say you know I’m good— 
true to you—your Joan! . . . And kiss me—like you 
did that night—when we were such blind fools. A 
boy and a girl who didn’t know—and couldn’t tell! 
—Oh, the sadness of it! . . . Kiss me, Jim, before I— 
drop—at your feet! ... If only you—believe—■” 
n l8 ? 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan was blinded by tears and whispering she 
knew not what when Cleve broke from his trance 
and caught her to his breast. She was fainting—- 
hovering at the border of unconsciousness when his 
violence held her back from oblivion. She seemed 
wrapped to him and held so tightly there was no 
breath in her body, no motion, no stir of pulse. 
That vague, dreamy moment passed. She heard his 
husky, broken accents—she felt the pound of his 
heart against her breast. And he began to kiss her 
as she had begged him to. She quickened to thrill¬ 
ing, revivifying life. And she lifted her face, and 
clung round his neck, and kissed him, blindly, 
sweetly, passionately, with all her heart and soul in 
her lips, wanting only one thing in the world—to 
give that which she had denied him. 

'‘Joan! . . . Joan! . . . Joan!” he murmured when 
their lips parted. “Am I dreaming—drunk—or 
crazy?” 

“Oh, Jim, I’m real—you have me in your arms,” 
she whispered. ‘ ‘ Dear Jim—kiss me again—and say 
you believe me.” 

“Believe you? . . . I’m out of my mind with joy. 
... You loved me! You followed me! . . . And— 
that idea of mine—only an absurd, vile suspicion! 
I might have known—had I been sane!” 

“There. . . . Oh, Jim! . . . Enough of madness! 
We’ve got to plan. Remember where we are. 
There’s Kells, and this terrible situation to meet!” 

He stared at her, slowly realizing, and then it was 
his turn to shake. “My God! I’d forgotten. I’ll 
kave to kill you now!” 

A reaction set in. If he had any self-control left 
188 


THE BORDER LEGION 


he lost it, and like a boy whose fling at manhood had 
exhausted his courage he sank beside her and buried 
his face against her. And he cried in a low, tense, 
heartbroken way. For Joan it was terrible to hear 
him. She held his hand to her breast and implored 
him not to weaken now. But he was stricken with 
remorse—he had run off like a coward, he had 
brought her to this calamity—and he could not rise 
under it. Joan realized that he had long labored 
under stress of morbid emotion. Only a supreme 
effort could lift him out of it to strong and reasoning 
equilibrium, and that must come from her. 

She pushed him away from her, and held him back 
where he must see her, and, white-hot with passionate 
purpose, she kissed him. “Jim Gleve, if you’ve 
nerve enough to be bad you’ve nerve enough to save 
the girl who loves you—who belongs to you!” 

He raised his face and it flashed from red to white. 
He caught the subtlety of her antithesis. With the 
very two words which had driven him away under the 
sting of cowardice she uplifted him; and with all that 
was tender and faithful and passionate in her mean¬ 
ing of surrender she settled at once and forever the 
doubt of his manhood. He arose trembling in every 
limb. Like a dog he shook himself. His breast 
heaved. The shades of scorn and bitterness and 
abandon might never have haunted his face. In that 
moment he had passed from the reckless and wild, 
sick rage of a weakling to the stern, realizing courage 
of a man. His suffering on this wild border had de¬ 
veloped a different fiber of character; and at the 
great moment, the climax, when his moral force 
hung balanced between elevation and destruction, 
189 


THE BORDER LEGION 


the woman had called to him, and her unquenchable 
spirit passed into him. 

“There’s only one thing—to get away,” he said. 

“Yes, but that’s a terrible risk,” she replied. 

“We’ve a good chance now. I’ll get horses. We 
can slip away while they’re all excited.” 

“No—no. I daren’t risk so much. Kells would 
find out at once. He’d be like a hound on our trail. 
But that’s not all. I’ve a horror of Gulden. I 
can’t explain. I feel it. He would know—he 
would take the trail. I’d never try to escape with 
Gulden in camp. . . . Jim, do you know what he’s 
done?” 

“He’s a cannibal. I hate the sight of him. I 
tried to kill him. I wish I had killed him.” 

“I’m never safe while he’s near.” 

“Then I will kill him.” 

“Hush! you’ll not be desperate unless you have to 
be. . . . Listen. I’m safe with Kells for the present. 
And he’s friendly to you. Let us wait. I’ll keep 
trying to influence him. I have won the friendship 
of some of his men. We’ll stay with him—travel 
with him. Surely we’d have a better chance to es¬ 
cape after we reach that gold-camp. You must 
play your part. But do it without drinking and 
fighting. I couldn’t bear that. We’ll see each other 
somehow. We’ll plan. Then we’ll take the first 
sure chance to get away.” 

“We might never have a better chance than we’ve 
got right now,” he remonstrated. 

‘ ‘ It may seem so to you. But I know. I haven’t 
watched these ruffians for nothing. I tell you Gul¬ 
den has split with Kells because of me. I don’t 
190 


THE BORDER LEGION 


know how I know. And I think I’d die of terror out 
on the trail, with two hundred miles to go—and that 
gorilla after me.” 

“But, Joan, if we once got away Gulden would 
never take you alive,” said Jim, earnestly. “So 
you needn’t fear that.” 

“I’ve uncanny horror of him. It’s as if he were a 
gorilla—and would take me off even if I were dead! 
. . . No, Jim, let us wait. Let me select the time. 
I can do it. Trust me. Oh, Jim, now that I’ve 
saved you from being a bandit, I can do anything. I 
can fool Kells or Pearce or Wood—any of them, 
except Gulden.” 

“If Kells had to choose now between trailing 
you and rushing for the gold-camp, which would 
he do?” 

“He’d trail me,” she said. 

“But Kells is crazy over gold. He has two pas¬ 
sions. To steal gold, and to gamble with it.” 

“That may be. But he’d go after me first. So 
would Gulden. We can’t ride these hills as they do. 
We don’t know the trails—the water. We’d get 
lost. We’d be caught. And somehow I know that 
Gulden and his gang would find us first.” 

“You’re probably right, Joan,” replied Cleve. 
“But you condemn me to a living death. ... To 
let you out of my sight with Kells or any of 
them! It ’ll be worse almost than my life was 
before.” 

“But, Jim, I’ll be safe,” she entreated. “It’s the 
better choice of two evils. Our lives depend on 
reason, waiting, planning. And, Jim, I want to live 
for you.” 

191 


THE BORDER LEGION 


‘‘My brave darling, to hear you say that!” ho 
exclaimed, with deep emotion. “When I never ex¬ 
pected to see you again! . . . But the past is past. 
I begin over from this hour. I ’ll be what you want—• 
do what you want.” 

Joan seemed irresistibly drawn to him again, and 
the supplication, as she lifted her blushing face, and 
the yielding, were perilously sweet. 

“Jim, kiss me and hold me—the way—you did 
that night!” 

And it was not Joan who first broke that embrace. 

“Find my mask,” she said. 

Cleve picked up his gun and presently the piece 
of black felt. He held it as if it were a deadly thing. 

“Put it on me.” 

He slipped the cord over her head and adjusted 
the mask so the holes came right for her eyes. 

“Joan, it hides the—the goodness of you,” he cried. 
“No one can see your eyes now. No one will look 
at your face. That rig shows your—shows you off 
so! It’s not decent. . . . But, O Lord! I’m bound to 
confess how pretty, how devilish, how seductive you 
are! And I hate it.” 

“Jim, I hate it, too. But we must stand it. 
Try not to shame me any more. . . . And now good- 
by. Keep watch for me—as I will for you—all th* 
time.” 

Joan broke from him and glided out of the grove, 
away under the straggling pines, along the slope. 
She came upon her horse and she led him back to the 
corral. Many of the horses had strayed. There 
was no one at the cabin, but she saw men striding up 
the slope, Kells in the lead. She had been fortunate. 

192 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Her absence could hardly have been noted. She 
had just strength left to get to her room, where she 
fell upon the bed, weak and trembling and dizzy 
and unutterably grateful at her deliverance from the 
hateful, unbearable falsity of her situation. 


CHAPTER XIII 


I T was afternoon before Joan could trust herself 
sufficiently to go out again, and when she did go 
she saw that she attracted very little attention from 
the bandits. 

Kells had a springy step, a bright eye, a lifted 
head, and he seemed to be listening. Perhaps he 
was—to the music of his sordid dreams. Joan 
watched him sometimes with wonder. Even a 
bandit—plotting gold robberies, with violence and 
blood merely means to an end—built castles in the 
air and lived with joy! 

All that afternoon the bandits left camp in twos 
and threes, each party with pack burros and horses, 
packed as Joan had not seen them before on the 
border. Shovels and picks and old sieves and pans, 
these swinging or tied in prominent places, were 
evidence that the bandits meant to assume the 
characters of miners and prospectors. They whis¬ 
tled and sang. It was a lark. The excitement had 
subsided and the action begun. Only in Kells, 
under his radiance, could be felt the dark and 
sinister plot. He was the heart of the machine. 

By sundown Kells, Pearce, Wood, Jim Cleve, and 
a robust, grizzled bandit, Jesse Smith, were left in 
camp. Smith was lame from his ride, and Joan 
194 


THE BORDER LEGION 


gathered that Kells would have left camp but for the 
fact that Smith needed rest. He and Kells were to¬ 
gether all the time, talking endlessly. Joan heard 
them argue a disputed point—would the men abide 
by Kells’s plan and go by twos and threes into the 
gold-camp, and hide their relations as a larger band? 
Kells contended they would and Smith had his 
doubts. 

“Jack, wait till you see Alder Creek!” ejaculated 
Smith, wagging his grizzled head. “Three thousand 
men, old an’ young, of all kinds—gone gold-crazy! 
Alder Creek has got California’s ’49 an’ ’51 cinched 
to the last hole!” And the bandit leader rubbed his 
palms in great glee. 

That evening they all had supper together in 
Kells’s cabin. Bate Wood grumbled because he had 
packed most of his outfit. It so chanced that Joan 
sat directly opposite Jim Cleve, and while he ate he 
pressed her foot with his under the table. The 
touch thrilled Joan. Jim did not glance at her, 
but there was such a change in him that she feared 
it might rouse Kells’s curiosity. This night, how¬ 
ever, the bandit could not have seen anything 
except a gleam of yellow. He talked, he sat at table, 
but he did not eat. After supper he sent Joan to her 
cabin, saying they would be on the trail at daylight. 
Joan watched them awhile from her covert. They 
had evidently talked themselves out, and Kells 
grew thoughtful. Smith and Pearce went outside, 
apparently to roll their beds on the ground under the 
porch roof. Wood, who said he was never a good 
sleeper, smoked his pipe. And Jim Cleve spread 
blankets along the wall in the shadow and lay down. 
i95 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan could see his eyes shining toward her door. 
Of course he was thinking of her. But could he see 
her eyes? Watching her chance, she slipped a hand 
from behind the curtain, and she knew Cleve saw it. 
What a comfort that was! Joan’s heart swelled. 
All might yet be well. Jim Cleve would be near her 
while she slept. She could sleep now without those 
dark dreams—without dreading to awaken to the 
light. Again she saw Kells pacing the room, silent, 
bent, absorbed, hands behind his back, weighted 
with his burden. It was impossible not to feel sorry 
for him. With all his intelligence and cunning and 
power, his cause was hopeless. Joan knew that as 
she knew so many other things without understand¬ 
ing why. She had not yet sounded Jesse Smith, 
but not a man of all the others was true to Kells. 
They would be of his Border Legion, do his bidding, 
revel in their ill-gotten gains, and then, when he 
needed them most, be false to him. 

When Joan was awakened her room was shrouded 
in gray gloom. A bustle sounded from the big 
cabin, and outside horses stamped and men talked. 

She sat alone at breakfast and ate by lantern- 
light. It was necessary to take a lantern back to her 
cabin, and she was so long in her preparations there 
that Kells called again. Somehow she did not want 
to leave this cabin. It seemed protective and 
private, and she feared she might not find such 
quarters again. Besides, upon the moment of leav¬ 
ing she discovered that she had grown attached to 
the place where she had suffered and thought and 
grown so much. 


196 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Kells had put out the lights. Joan hurried 
through the cabin and outside. The gray obscurity 
had given way to dawn. The air was cold, sweet, 
bracing with the touch of mountain purity in it. 
The men, except Kells, were all mounted, and the 
pack-train was in motion. Kells dragged the rude 
door into position, and then, mounting, he called to 
Joan to follow. She trotted her horse after him, 
down the slope, across the brook and through the wet 
willows, and out upon the wide trail. She glanced 
ahead, discerning that the third man from her was 
Jim Cleve; and that fact, in the start for Alder 
Creek, made all the difference in the world. 

When they rode out of the narrow defile into the 
valley the sun was rising red and bright in a notch 
of the mountains. Clouds hung over distant peaks, 
and the patches of snow in the high canons shone 
blue and pink. Smith in the lead turned westward 
up the valley. Horses trooped after the cavalcade 
and had to be driven back. There were also cattle 
in the valley, and all these Kells left behind like an 
honest rancher who had no fear for his stock. Deer 
stood off with long ears pointed forward, watching 
the horses go by. There were flocks of quail, and 
whirring grouse, and bounding jack-rabbits, and 
occasionally a brace of sneaking coyotes. These 
and the wild flowers, and the waving meadow- 
grass, the yellow-stemmed willows, and the patches 
of alder, all were pleasurable to Joan’s eyes and rest¬ 
ful to her mind. 

Smith soon led away from this valley up out of 
the head of a ravine, across a rough rock-strewn 
ridge, down again into a hollow that grew to be a 
197 


THE BORDER LEGION 


canon. The trail was bad. Part of the time it was 
the bottom of a boulder-strewn brook where the 
horses slipped on the wet, round stones. * Progress 
was slow and time passed. For Joan, however, it 
was a relief; and the slower they might travel the 
better she would like it. At the end of that journey 
there were Gulden and the others, and the gold-camp 
with its illimitable possibilities for such men. 

At noon the party halted for a rest. The camp 
site was pleasant and the men all agreeable. During 
the meal Kells found occasion to remark to Cleve: 

“Say, youngster, you’ve brightened up. Must be 
because of our prospects over here?” 

“Not that so much,” replied Cleve. “I quit the 
whisky. To be honest, Kells, I was almost seeing 
snakes.” 

‘ ‘ I’m glad you quit. When you’re drinking you’re 
wild. I never yet saw the man who could drink hard 
and keep his head. I can’t. But I don’t drink 
much.” 

His last remark brought a response in laughter. 
Evidently his companions thought he was joking. 
He laughed himself and actually winked at Joan. 

It happened to be Cleve whom Kells told to sad¬ 
dle Joan’s horse, and as Joan tried the cinches, to see 
if they were too tight to suit her, Jim’s hand came 
in contact with hers. That touch was like a mes¬ 
sage. Joan was thrilling all over as she looked at 
Jim, but he kept his face averted. Perhaps he did 
not trust his eyes. 

Travel was resumed up the canon and continued 
steadily, though leisurely. But the trail was so 
rough, and so winding, that Joan believed the 
198 


THE BORDER LEGION 


progress did not exceed three miles an hour. It was 
the kind of travel in which a horse could be helped 
and that entailed attention to the lay of the ground. 
Before Joan realized the hours were flying, the after¬ 
noon had waned. Smith kept on, however, until 
nearly dark before halting for camp. 

The evening camp was a scene of activity, and all 
except Joan had work to do. She tried to lend^a 
hand, but Wood told her to rest. This she was glad 
to do. When called to supper she had almost fallen 
asleep. After a long day’s ride the business of eat¬ 
ing precluded conversation. Later, however, the 
men began to talk between puffs on their pipes, and 
from the talk no one could have guessed that here 
was a band of robbers on their way to a gold-camp. 
Jesse Smith had a sore foot and he was compared to 
a tenderfoot on his first ride. Smith retaliated in 
kind. Every consideration was shown Joan, and 
Wood particularly appeared assiduous in his desire 
for her comfort. All the men except Cleve paid 
her some kind attention; and he, of course, neglected 
her because he was afraid to go near her. Again she 
felt in Red Pearce a condemnation of the bandit 
leader who was dragging a girl over hard trails, 
making her sleep in the open, exposing her to danger 
and to men like himself and Gulden. In his own 
estimate Pearce, like every one of his kind, was not 
so low as the others. 

Joan watched and listened from her blankets, 
under a leafy tree, some few yards from the camp¬ 
fire. Once Kells turned to see how far distant she 
was, and then, lowering his voice, he told a story. 
The others laughed. Pearce followed with another, 
199 


THE BORDER LEGION 


and he, too, took care that Joan could not hear. 
They grew closer for the mirth, and Smith, who 
evidently was a jolly fellow, set them to roaring. 
Jim Cleve laughed with them. 

“Say, Jim, you’re getting over it,” remarked 
Kells. 

“Over what?” 

Kells paused, rather embarrassed for a reply, as 
evidently in the humor of the hour he had spoken a 
thought better left unsaid. But there was no more 
forbidding atmosphere about Cleve. He appeared 
to have rounded to good-fellowship after a moody 
and quarrelsome drinking spell. 

“Why, over what drove you out here—and gave 
me a lucky chance at you,” replied Kells, with a 
constrained laugh. 

“Oh, you mean the girl?. . . Sure, I’m getting ovel 
that, except when I drink.” 

“Tell us, Jim,” said Kells, curiously. 

“Aw, you’ll give me the laugh!” retorted Cleve. 

“No, we won’t unless your story’s funny.” 

“You can gamble it wasn’t funny,” put in Red 
Pearce. 

They all coaxed him, yet none of them, except 
Kells, was particularly curious; it was just that hour 
when men of their ilk were lazy and comfortable and 
full fed and good-humored round the warm, blazing 
camp-fire. 

“All right,” replied Cleve, and apparently, for all 
his complaisance, a call upon memory had its pain. 
“I’m from Montana. Range-rider in winter and in 
summer I prospected. Saved quite a little money, 
in spite of a fling now and then at faro and whisky. 

200 


THE BORDER LEGION 


... Yes, there was a girl, I guess yes. She was 
pretty. I had a bad case over her. Not long ago 
I left all I had—money and gold and things—in her 
keeping, and I went prospecting again. We were to 
get married on my return. I stayed out six months, 
did well, and got robbed of all my dust.” 

Cleve was telling this fabrication in a matter-of- 
fact way, growing a little less frank as he proceeded, 
and he paused while he lifted sand and let it drift 
through his fingers, watching it curiously. All the 
men were interested and Kells hung on every word. 

‘‘When I got back,” went on Cleve, “my girl had 
married another fellow. She’d given him all I left 
with her. Then I got drunk. While I was drunk 
they put up a job on me. It was her word that dis¬ 
graced me and run me out of town. ... So I struck 
west and drifted to the border.” 

“That’s not all,” said Kells, bluntly. 

“Jim, I reckon you ain’t tellin’ what you did to 
thet lyin’ girl an’ the feller. How’d you leave 
them?” added Pearce. 

But Cleve appeared to become gloomy and 
reticent. 

“Wimmen can hand the double-cross to a man, 
hey, Kells?” queried Smith, with a broad grin. 

“By gosh! I thought you’d been treated power¬ 
ful mean!” exclaimed Bate Wood, and he was full of 
wrath. 

“A treacherous woman!” exclaimed Kells, passion¬ 
ately. He had taken Cleve’s story hard. The man 
must have been betrayed by women, and Cleve’s 
story had irritated old wounds. 

Directly Kells left the fire and repaired to his 
201 


THE BORDER LEGION 


blankets, near where Joan lay. Probably he be¬ 
lieved her asleep, for he neither looked nor spoke. 
Cleve sought his bed, and likewise Wood and Smith. 
Pearce was the last to leave, and as he stood up the 
light fell upon his red face, lean and bold like an 
Indian’s. Then he passed Joan, looking down upon 
her and then upon the recumbent figure of Kells; 
and if his glance was not baleful and malignant, as 
it swept over the bandit, Joan believed her imagina¬ 
tion must be vividly weird, and running away with 
her judgment. 

The next morning began a day of toil. They had 
to climb over the mountain divide, a long, flat- 
topped range of broken rocks. Joan spared her 
horse to the limit of her own endurance. If there 
were a trail Smith alone knew it, for none was in 
evidence to the others. They climbed out of the 
notched head of the canon, and up a long slope of 
weathered shale that let the horses slide back a foot 
for every yard gained, and through a labyrinth of 
broken cliffs, and over bench and ridge to the 
height of the divide. From there Joan had a 
magnificent view. Foot-hills rolled round heads 
below, and miles away, in a curve of the range, 
glistened Bear Lake. The rest here at this height 
was counteracted by the fact that the altitude af¬ 
fected Joan. She was glad to be on the move again, 
and now the travel was down-hill, so that she could 
ride. Still it was difficult, for horses were more 
easily lamed in a descent. It took two hours to 
descend the distance that had consumed all the 
morning to ascend. Smith led through valley after 
202 


THE BORDER LEGION 


valley between foot-hills, and late in the afternoon 
halted by a spring in a timbered spot. 

Joan ached in every muscle and she was too tired 
to care what happened round the camp-fire. Jim 
had been close to her all day and that had kept up 
her spirit. It was not yet dark when she lay down 
for the night. 

“Sleep well, Dandy Dale,” said Kells, cheerfully, 
yet not without pathos. “Alder Creek to-morrow! 
. . . Then you’ll never sleep again!” 

At times she seemed to feel that he regretted her 
presence, and always this fancy came to her with 
mocking or bantering suggestion that the costume 
and mask she wore made her a bandit’s consort, and 
she could not escape the wildness of this gold¬ 
seeking life. The truth was that Kells saw the 
insuperable barrier between them, and in the bitter¬ 
ness of his love he lied to himself, and hated himself 
for the lie. 

About the middle of the afternoon of the next 
day the tired cavalcade rode down out of the brush 
and rock into a new, broad, dusty road. It was so 
new that the stems of the cut brush along the borders 
were still white. But that road had been traveled 
by a multitude. 

Out across the valley in the rear Joan saw a 
canvas-topped wagon, and she had not ridden far 
on the road when she saw bobbing pack-burros 
to the fore. Kells had called Wood and Smith 
and Pearce and Cleve together, and now they 
went on in a bunch, all driving the pack-train. 
Excitement again claimed Kells; Pearce was alert 
14 2 °3 


THE BORDER LEGION 


and hawk-eyed; Smith looked like a hound on a 
scent; Cleve showed genuine feeling. Only Bate 
Wood remained proof to the meaning of that broad 
road. 

All along, on either side, Joan saw wrecks of 
wagons, wheels, harness, boxes, old rags of tents 
blown into the brush, dead mules and burros. It 
seemed almost as if an army had passed that way . 
Presently the road crossed a wide, shallow brook of 
water, half clear and half muddy; and on the other 
side the road followed the course of the brook. 
Joan heard Smith call the stream Alder Creek, and 
he asked Kells if he knew what muddied water 
meant. The bandit’s eyes flashed fire. Joan thrilled, 
for she, too, knew that up-stream there were miners 
washing earth for gold. 

A couple of miles farther on creek and road en¬ 
tered the mouth of a wide spruce-timbered gulch. 
These trees hid any view of the slopes or floor of the 
gulch, and it was not till several more miles had 
been passed that the bandit rode out into what Joan 
first thought was a hideous slash in the forest 
made by fire. But it was only the devastation 
wrought by men. As far as she could see the timber 
was down, and everywhere began to be manifested 
signs that led her to expect habitations. No cabins 
showed, however, in the next mile. They passed 
out of the timbered part of the gulch into one of 
rugged, bare, and stony slopes, with bunches of 
sparse alder here and there. The gulch turned at 
right angles and a great gray slope shut out sight of 
what lay beyond. But, once round that obstruction, 
Kells halted his men with short, tense exclamation. 

20J 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan saw that she stood high up on the slope, 
looking down upon the gold-camp. It was an in¬ 
teresting scene, but not beautiful. To Kells it must 
have been so, but to Joan it was even more hideous 
than the slash in the forest. Here and there, every¬ 
where, were rude dugouts, little huts of brush, an 
occasional tent, and an occasional log cabin; and as 
she looked farther and farther these crude habita¬ 
tions of miners magnified in number and in dimen¬ 
sions till the white and black, broken mass of the 
town choked the narrow gulch. 

“Wal, boss, what do you say to thet diggin’s?” 
demanded Jesse Smith. 

Kells drew a deep breath. ‘‘Old forty-niner, this 
beats all I ever saw!” 

“Shore I’ve seen Sacramento look like thet!” 
added Bate Wood. 

Pearce and Cleve gazed with fixed eyes, and, 
however different their emotions, they rivaled each 
other in attention. 

“Jesse, what’s the word?” queried Kells, with a 
sharp return to the business of the matter. 

“I’ve picked a site on the other side of camp. 
Best fer us,” he replied. 

“Shall we keep to the road?” 

“Certain-lee,” he returned, with his grin. 

Kells hesitated, and felt of his beard, probably 
conjecturing the possibilities of recognition. 

“Whiskers make another man of you. Reckon 
you needn’t expect to be known over here.” 

That decided Kells. He pulled his sombrero well 
down, shadowing his face. Then he remembered Joan, 
and made a slight significant gesture at her mask. 

205 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“ Kells, the people in this here camp wouldn’t 
look at an army ridin’ through,” responded Smith. 
“It’s every man fer hisself. An’ wimmen, say! 
there’s all kinds. I seen a dozen with veils, an* 
them’s the same as masks.” 

Nevertheless, Kells had Joan remove the mask 
and pull her sombrero down, and instructed her to 
ride in the midst of the group. Then they trotted 
on, soon catching up with the jogging pack-train. 

What a strange ride that was for Joan! The 
slope resembled a magnified ant-hill with a horde of 
frantic ants in action. As she drew closer she saw 
these ants were men, digging for gold. Those near 
at hand could be plainly seen—rough, ragged, 
bearded men and smooth-faced boys. Farther on 
and up the slope, along the waterways and ravines, 
were miners so close they seemed almost to inter¬ 
fere with one another. The creek bottom was alive 
with busy, silent, violent men, bending over the 
water, washing and shaking and paddling, all 
desperately intent upon something. They had no 
time to look up. They were ragged, unkempt, bare¬ 
armed and bare-legged, every last one of them with 
back bent. For a mile or more Kells’s party trotted 
through this part of the diggings, and everywhere, 
on rocky bench and gravel bar and gray slope, were 
holes with men picking and shoveling in them. 
Some were deep and some were shallow; some long 
trenches and others mere pits. If all of these 
prospectors were finding gold, then gold was every¬ 
where. And presently Joan did not need to have 
Kells tell her that all of these diggers were finding 
dust. How silent they were—how tense! They 
306 


THE BORDER LEGION 

were not mechanical. It was a soul that drove them. 
Joan had seen many men dig for gold, and find a 
little now and then, but she had never seen men 
dig when they knew they were going to strike gold. 
That made the strange difference. 

Joan calculated she must have seen a thousand 
miners in less than two miles of the gulch, and then 
she could not see up the draws and washes that 
intersected the slope, and she could not see beyond 
the camp. 

But it was not a camp which she was entering; 
it was a tent-walled town, a city of squat log 
cabins, a long, motley, checkered jumble of struc¬ 
tures thrown up and together in mad haste. The 
wide road split it in the middle and seemed a stream 
of color and life. Joan rode between two lines of 
horses, burros, oxen, mules, packs and loads and 
canvas-domed wagons and gaudy vehicles resembling 
gipsy caravans. The street was as busy as a bee¬ 
hive and as noisy as a bedlam. The sidewalks were 
rough-hewn planks and they rattled under the tread 
of booted men. There were tents on the ground and 
tents on floors and tents on log walls. And farther 
on began the lines of cabins—stores and shops and 
saloons—and then a great, square, flat structure with 
a flaring sign in crude gold letters, “Last Nugget,” 
from which came the creak of fiddles and scrape of 
boots, and hoarse mirth. Joan saw strange, wild¬ 
looking creatures—women that made her shrink; 
and several others of her sex, hurrying along, carry¬ 
ing sacks or buckets, worn and bewildered-looking 
women, the sight of whom gave her a pang. She 
saw lounging Indians and groups of lazy, bearded 
207 


THE BORDER LEGION 


men, just like Kells’s band, and gamblers in long- 
black coats, and frontiersmen in fringed buckskin* 
and Mexicans with swarthy faces under wide, peaked 
sombreros; and then in great majority, dominating 
that stream of life, the lean and stalwart miners, of 
all ages, in their check shirts and high boots, all 
packing guns, jostling along, dark-browed, somber, 
and intent. These last were the workers of this 
vast beehive; the others were the drones, the 
parasites. 

Kells’s party rode on through the town, and 
Smith halted them beyond the outskirts, near a 
grove of spruce-trees, where camp was to be made. 

Joan pondered over her impression of Alder Creek. 
It was confused; she had seen too much. But out 
of what she had seen and heard loomed two contrast¬ 
ing features: a throng of toiling miners, slaves to 
their lust for gold and actuated by ambitions, hopes, 
and aims, honest, rugged, tireless workers, but 
frenzied in that strange pursuit; and a lesser crowd, 
like leeches, living for and off the gold they did not 
dig with blood of hand and sweat of brow. 

Manifestly Jesse Smith had selected the spot for 
Kells’s permanent location at Alder Creek with an 
eye for the bandit’s peculiar needs. It was out of 
sight of town, yet within a hundred rods of the near¬ 
est huts, and closer than that to a sawmill. It 
could be approached by a shallow ravine that 
wound away toward the creek. It was backed up 
against a rugged bluff in which there was a narrow 
gorge, choked with pieces of weathered cliff; and no 
doubt the bandits could go and come in that 
208 


THE BORDER LEGION 


direction. There was a spring near at hand and a 
grove of spruce-trees. The ground was rocky, and 
apparently unfit for the digging of gold. 

While Bate Wood began preparations for supper, 
and Cleve built the fire, and Smith looked after the 
i horses, Kells and Pearce stepped off the ground 
where the cabin was to be erected. They selected a 
level bench down upon which a huge cracked rock, 
as large as a house, had rolled. The cabin was to be 
backed up against this stone, and in the rear, under 
cover of it, a secret exit could be made and hidden. 
The bandit wanted two holes to his burrow. 

When the group sat down to the meal the gulch 
was full of sunset colors. And, strangely, they were 
all some shade of gold. Beautiful golden veils, misty 
ethereal, shone in rays across the gulch from the 
broken ramparts; and they seemed so brilliant, so 
rich, prophetic of the treasures of the hills. But 
that golden sunset changed. The sun went down 
red, leaving a sinister shadow over the gulch, grow¬ 
ing darker and darker. Joan saw Cleve thought¬ 
fully watching this transformation, and she won¬ 
dered if he had caught the subtle mood of nature. 
For whatever had been the hope and brightness, the 
golden glory of this new Eldorado, this sudden up¬ 
rising Alder Creek with its horde of brave and toil¬ 
ing miners, the truth was that Jack Kells and Gulden 
had ridden into the camp and the sun had gone down 
red. Joan knew that great mining-camps were 
always happy, rich, free, lucky, honest places till 
the fame of gold brought evil men. And she had 
not the slightest doubt that the sun of Alder Creek’s 
brief and glad day had set forever. 

209 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Twilight was stealing down from the hills when 
Kells announced to his party: “Bate, you and 
Jesse keep camp. Pearce, you look out for any of 
the gang. But meet in the dark! . . . Cleve, you 
can go with me.” Then he turned to Joan. “Do 
you want to go with us to see the sights or would 
you rather stay here?” 

“I’d like to go, if only I didn’t look so—so dread¬ 
ful in this suit,” she replied. 

Kells laughed, and the camp-fire glare lighted the 
smiling faces of Pearce and Smith. 

“Why, you’ll not be seen. And you look far from 
dreadful.” 

“Can’t you give me a—a longer coat?” faltered 
Joan. 

Cleve heard, and without speaking he went to his 
saddle and unrolled his pack. Inside a slicker he 
had a gray coat. Joan had seen it many a time, 
and it brought a pang with memories of Hoadley. 
Had that been years ago? Cleve handed this coat 
to Joan. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

Kells held the coat for her and she slipped into it. 
She seemed lost. It was long, coming way below 
her hips, and for the first time in days she felt she 
was Joan Randle again. 

“Modesty is all very well in a woman, but it’s not 
always becoming,” remarked Kells. “Turn up your 
collar. . . . Pull down your hat—farther— There! 
If you won’t go as a youngster now I’ll eat Dandy 
Dale’s outfit and get you silk dresses. Ha-ha!” 

Joan was not deceived by his humor. He might 
like to look at her in that outrageous bandit costume; 

210 


THE BORDER LEGION 


it might have pleased certain vain and notoriety¬ 
seeking proclivities of his, habits of his California 
road-agent days; but she felt that notwithstanding 
this, once she had donned the long coat he was re¬ 
lieved and glad in spite of himself. Joan had a 
little rush of feeling. Sometimes she almost liked 
this bandit. Once he must have been something 
very different. 

They set out, Joan between Kells and Cleve. 
How strange for her! She had daring enough to 
feel for Jim’s hand in the dark and to give it a 
squeeze. Then he nearly broke her fingers. She felt 
the fire in him. It was indeed a hard situation for 
him. The walking was rough, owing to the uneven 
road and the stones. Several times Joan stumbled 
and her spurs jangled. They passed ruddy camp¬ 
fires, where steam and smoke arose with savory 
odors, where red-faced men were eating; and they 
passed other camp-fires, burned out and smoldering. 
Some tents had dim lights, throwing shadows on the 
canvas, and others were dark. There were men on 
the road, all headed for town, gay, noisy, and 
profane. 

Then Joan saw uneven rows of lights, some dim 
and some bright, and crossing before them were 
moving dark figures. Again Kells bethought him¬ 
self of his own disguise, and buried his chin in his 
scarf and pulled his wide-brimmed hat down so that 
hardly a glimpse of his face could be seen. Joan 
could not have recognized him at the distance of a 
yard. 

They walked down the middle of the road, past 
the noisy saloons, past the big, flat structure with its 
2 11 


THE BORDER LEGION 

sign “Last Nugget” and its open windows, where 
shafts of light shone forth, and all the way down to 
the end of town. Then Kells turned back. He 
scrutinized each group of men he met. He was 
looking for members of his Border Legion. Several 
times he left Cleve and Joan standing in the road 
while he peered into saloons. At these brief inter¬ 
vals Joan looked at Cleve with all her heart in her 
eyes. He never spoke. He seemed under a strain. 
Upon the return, when they reached the Last 
Nugget, Kells said: 

“Jim, hang on to her like grim death! She’s 
worth more than all the gold in Alder Creek!” 

Then they started for the door. 

Joan clung to Cleve on one side, and on the other, 
instinctively with a frightened girl’s action, she let go 
Kells’s arm and slipped her hand in his. He seemed 
startled. He bent to her ear, for the din made 
ordinary talk indistinguishable. That involuntary 
hand in his evidently had pleased and touched him, 
even hurt him, for his whisper was husky. 

“It’s all right—you’re perfect^ safe.” 

First Joan made out a glare of smoky lamps, a 
huge place full of smoke and men and sounds. 
Kells led the way slowly. He had his own reason for 
observance. There was a stench that sickened Joan 
—a blended odor of tobacco and rum and wet saw¬ 
dust and smoking oil. There was a noise that ap¬ 
peared almost deafening—the loud talk and vacant 
laughter of drinking men, and a din of creaky 
fiddles and scraping boots and boisterous mirth. 
This last and dominating sound came from an ad¬ 
joining room, which Joan could see through a wide 
212 


THE BORDER LEGION 

opening. There was dancing, but Joan could not 
see the dancers because of the intervening crowd. 
Then her gaze came back to the features nearer at 
hand. Men and youths were lined up to a long bar 
nearly as high as her head. Then there were excited 
shouting groups round gambling games. There were 
men in clusters, sitting on upturned kegs, round a 
box for a table, and dirty bags of gold-dust were 
in evidence. The gamblers at the cards were silent, 
in strange contrast with the others; and in each 
group was at least one dark-garbed, hard-eyed 
gambler who was not a miner. Joan saw boys not 
yet of age, flushed and haggard, wild with the frenzy 
of winning and cast down in defeat. There were 
jovial, grizzled, old prospectors to whom this scene 
and company were pleasant reminder of bygone 
days. There were desperados whose glittering eyes 
showed they had no gold with which to gamble. 

Joan suddenly felt Kells start and she believed 
she heard a low, hissing exclamation. And she 
looked for the cause. Then she saw familiar dark 
faces; they belonged to men of Kells’s Legion. 
And with his broad back to her there sat the giant 
Gulden. Already he and his allies had gotten to¬ 
gether in defiance of or indifference to Kells’s orders. 
Some of them were already under the influence of 
drink, but, though they saw Kells, they gave no sign 
of recognition. Gulden did not see Joan, and for 
that she was thankful. And whether or not his 
presence caused it, the fact was that she suddenly felt 
as much of a captive as she had in Cabin Gulch, and 
feared that here escape would be harder because in a 
community like this Kells would watch her closely. 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Kells led Joan and Cleve from one part of the 
smoky hall to another, and they looked on at the 
games and the strange raw life manifested there. 
The place was getting packed with men. Kells’s 
party encountered Blicky and Beady Jones together. 
They passed by as strangers. Then Joan saw Beard 
and Chick Williams arm in arm, strolling about, like 
roystering miners. Williams telegraphed a keen, 
fleeting glance at Kells, then went on, to be lost in the 
crowd. Handy Oliver brushed by Kells, jostled 
him, apparently by accident, and he said, ‘‘Excuse 
me, mister!” There were other familiar faces. 
Kells’s gang were all in Alder Creek and the dark 
machinations of the bandit leader had been put into 
operation. What struck Joan forcibly was that, 
though there were hilarity and comradeship, they 
were not manifested in any general way. These 
miners were strangers to one another; the groups were 
strangers; the gamblers were strangers; the new¬ 
comers were strangers; and over all hung an at¬ 
mosphere of distrust. Good-fellowship abided only 
in the many small companies of men who stuck 
together. The mining-camps that Joan had visited 
had been composed of an assortment of prospectors 
and hunters who made one big, jolly family. This 
was a gold strike, and the difference was obvious. 
The hunting for gold was one thing, in its relation 
to the searchers; after it had been found, in a rich 
field, the conditions of life and character changed. 
Gold had always seemed wonderful and beautiful to 
Joan; she absorbed here something that was the 
nucleus of hate. Why could not these miners, young 
and old, stay in their camps and keep their gold? 

214 


THE BORDER LEGION 


That was the fatality. The pursuit was a dream—• 
a glittering allurement; the possession incited a lust 
for more, and that was madness. Joan felt that in 
these reckless, honest miners there was a liberation 
of the same wild element which was the driving 
passion of Kells’s Border Legion. Gold, then, was a 
terrible thing. 

“Take me in there,” said Joan, conscious of her 
own excitement, and she indicated the dance-hall. 

Kells laughed as if at her audacity. But he ap¬ 
peared reluctant. 

“Please take me—unless—” Joan did not know 
what to add, but she meant unless it was not right 
for her to see any more. A strange curiosity had 
stirred in her. After all, this place where she now 
stood was not greatly different from the picture 
imagination had conjured up. That dance-hall, 
however, was beyond any creation of Joan’s mind, 

“Let me have a look first,” said Kells, and he left 
Joan with Cleve. 

When he had gone Joan spoke without looking at 
Cleve, though she held fast to his arm. 

“Jim, it could be dreadful here—all in a minute!” 
she whispered. 

“You’ve struck it exactly,” he replied. “All 
Alder Creek needed to make it hell was Kells and his 
gang.” 

“Thank Heaven I turned you back in time! . . . 
Jim, you’d have—have gone the pace here.” 

He nodded grimly. Then Kells returned and led 
them back through the room to another door where 
spectators were fewer. Joan saw perhaps a dozen 
couples of rough, whirling, jigging dancers in a h "lL 
215 


THE BORDER LEGION 




circle of watching men. The hall was a wide platform 
of boards with posts holding a canvas roof. The 
sides were open; the lights were situated at each end 
—huge, round, circus-tent lamps. There were rude 
benches and tables where reeling men surrounded a 
woman. Joan saw a young miner in dusty boots and 
corduroys lying drunk or dead in the sawdust. 
Her eyes were drawn back to the dancers, and to the 
dance that bore some semblance to a waltz. In 
the din the music could scarcely be heard. As far 
as the men were concerned this dance was a bold and 
violent expression of excitement on the part of some, 
and for the rest a drunken, mad fling. Sight of the 
women gave Joan’s curiosity a blunt check. She 
felt queer. She had not seen women like these, and 
their dancing, their actions, their looks, were beyond 
her understanding. Nevertheless, they shocked her, 
disgusted her, sickened her. And suddenly when 
it dawned upon her in unbelievable vivid suggestion 
that they were the wildest and most terrible element 
of this dark stream of humanity lured by gold, then 
she was appalled. 

“Take me out of here!” she besought Kells, and he 
led her out instantly. They went through the 
gambling-hall and into the crowded street, back 
toward camp. 

“You saw enough,” said Kells, “but nothing to 
what will break out by and by. This camp is new. 
It’s rich. Gold is the cheapest thing. It passes 
from hand to hand. Ten dollars an ounce. Buyers 
don’t look at the scales. Only the gamblers are 
crooked. But all this will change.” 

Kells did not say what that change might be, 
216 


THE BORDER LEGION 


but the click of his teeth was expressive. Joan did 
not, however, gather from it, and the dark meaning 
of his tone, that the Border Legion would cause this 
change. That was in the nature of events. A great 
strike of gold might enrich the world, but it was a 
catastrophe. 

Long into the night Joan lay awake, and at times, 
stirring the silence, there was wafted to her on a 
breeze the low, strange murmur of the gold-camp’s 
strife. 

Joan slept late next morning, and was awakened 
by the unloading of lumber. Teams were drawing 
planks from the sawmill. Already a skeleton frame¬ 
work for Kells’s cabin had been erected. Jim Cleve 
was working with the others, and they were sacri¬ 
ficing thoroughness to haste. Joan had to cook her 
own breakfast, which task was welcome, and after 
it had been finished she wished for something more 
to occupy her mind. But nothing offered. Finding 
a comfortable seat among some rocks where she 
would be inconspicuous, she looked on at the building 
of Kells’s cabin. It seemed strange, and somehow 
comforting, to watch Jim Cleve work. He had 
never been a great worker. Would this experience 
on the border make a man of him ? She felt assured 
of that. 

If ever a cabin sprang up like a mushroom, that 
bandit rendezvous was the one. Kells worked him¬ 
self, and appeared no mean hand. By noon the roof 
of clapboards was on, and the siding of the same 
material had been started. Evidently there was not 
to be a fireplace inside. 


217 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Then a teamster drove up with a wagon-load of 
purchases Kells had ordered. Kells helped unload 
this and evidently was in search of articles. Pres¬ 
ently he found them, and then approached Joan, to 
deposit before her an assortment of bundles little 
and big. 

. * ‘ There, Miss Modesty,’* he said. ‘ ‘ Make yourself 
some clothes. You can shake Dandy Dale’s out¬ 
fit, except when we’re on the trail. . . . And, say, if 
you knew what I had to pay for this stuff you’d 
think there was a bigger robber in Alder Creek than 
Jack Kells. . . . And, come to think of it, my name’s 
now Blight. You’re my daughter, if any one 
asks.” 

Joan was so grateful to him for the goods and the 
permission to get out of Dandy Dale’s suit as soon 
as possible, that she could only smile her thanks. 
Kells stared at her, then turned abruptly away. 
Those little unconscious acts of hers seemed to 
affect him strangely. Joan remembered that he had 
intended to parade her in Dandy Dale’s costume 
to gratify some vain abnormal side of his bandit’s 
proclivities. He had weakened. Here was another 
subtle indication of the deterioration of the evil of 
him. How far would it go ? Joan thought dreamily, 
and with a swelling heart, of her influence upon this 
hardened bandit, upon that wild boy, Jim Cleve. 

All that afternoon, and part of the evening in the 
camp-fire light, and all of the next day Joan sewed, 
so busy that she scarcely lifted her eyes from her 
work. The following day she finished her dress, 
and with no little pride, for she had both taste and 
skill. Of the men, Bate Wood had been most in- 
218 


THE BORDER LEGIOlN 


terested in her task; and he would let things bum 
on the fire to watch her. 

That day the rude cabin was completed. It 
contained one long room; and at the back a small 
compartment partitioned off from the rest, and 
built against and around a shallow cavern in the huge 
rock. This compartment was for Joan. There 
were a rude board door with padlock and key, a 
bench upon which blankets had been flung, a small 
square hole cut in the wall to serve as a window. 
What with her own few belongings and the articles 
of furniture that Kells bought for her, Joan soon had 
a comfortable room, even a luxury compared to what 
she had been used to for weeks. Certain it was that 
Kells meant to keep her a prisoner, or virtually so. 
Joan had no sooner spied the little window than she 
thought that it would be possible for Jim Cleve to 
talk to her there from the outside. 

Kells verified Joan’s suspicion by telling her that 
she was not to leave the cabin of her own accord, as 
she had been permitted to do back in Cabin Gulch; 
and Joan retorted that there she had made him a 
promise not to run away, which promise she now 
took back. That promise had worried her. She 
was glad to be honest with Kells. He gazed at her 
somberly. 

“You’ll be worse off if you do—and I’ll be better 
off,” he said. And then as an afterthought he 
added: “Gulden might not think you—a white 
elephant on his hands! . . . Remember his way, the 
cave and the rope!” 

So, instinctively or cruelly he chose the right name 
to bring shuddering terror into Joan’s soul. 

I 5 219 


CHAPTER XIV 


J OAN’S opportunity for watching Kells and his 
men and overhearing their colloquies was as 
good as it had been back in Cabin Gulch. But it 
developed that where Kells had been open and frank 
he now became secret and cautious. She was aware 
that men, singly and in couples, visited him during 
the early hours of the night, and they had confer¬ 
ences in low, earnest tones. She could peer out of 
her little window and see dark, silent forms come 
up from the ravine at the back of the cabin, and 
leave the same way. None of them went round to 
the front door, where Bate Wood smoked and kept 
guard. Joan was able to hear only scraps of these 
earnest talks; and from part of one she gathered 
that for some reason or other Kells desired to bring 
himself into notice. Alder Creek must be made to 
know that a man of importance had arrived. It 
seemed to Joan that this was the very last thing 
which Kells ought to do. What magnificent daring 
the bandit had! Famous years before in California 
—with a price set upon his life in Nevada—and now 
the noted, if unknown, leader of border robbers in 
Idaho, he sought to make himself prominent, re¬ 
spected, and powerful. Joan found that in spite of 
her horror at the sinister and deadly nature of the 
220 


THE BORDER LEGION 


bandit’s enterprise she could not avoid an absorbing 
interest in his fortunes. 

Next day Joan watched for an opportunity to tell 
Jim Cleve that he might come to her little window 
any time after dark to talk and plan with. her. 
No chance presented itself. Joan wore the dress she 
had made, to the evident pleasure of Bate Wood and 
Pearce. They had conceived as strong an interest 
in her fortunes as she had in Kells’s. Wood nodded 
his approval and Pearce said she was a lady once 
more. Strange it was to Joan that this villain 
Pearce, whom she could not have dared trust, grew 
open in his insinuating hints of Kells’s blackguardism. 
Strange because Pearce was absolutely sincere! 

When Jim Cleve did see Joan in her dress the first 
time he appeared so glad and relieved and grateful 
that she feared he might betray himself, so she got 
out of his sight. 

Not long after that Kells called her from her room. 
He wore his somber and thoughtful cast of coun¬ 
tenance. Red Pearce and Jesse Smith were standing 
at attention. Cleve was sitting on the threshold of 
the door and Wood leaned against the wall. 

“Is there anything in the pack of stuff I bought 
you that you could use for a veil?” asked Kells of 
Joan. 

V Yes,” she replied. 

“Get it,” he ordered. “And your hat, too.” 

Joan went to her room and returned with the 
designated articles, the hat being that which she 
had worn when she left Hoadley. 

“That ’ll do. Put it on—over your face—and 
let’s see how you look.” 


221 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan complied with this request, all the time 
wondering what Kells meant. 

“I want it to disguise you, but not to hide your 
youth—your good looks,” he S3id, and he arranged 
it differently about her face. “There! . . . You’d 
sure make any man curious to see you now. . . . Put 
on the hat.” 

Joan did so. Then Kells appeared to become more 
forcible. 

“You’re to go down into the town. Walk slow as 
far as the Last Nugget. Cross the road and come 
back. Look at every man you meet or see standing 
by. Don’t be in the least frightened. Pearce and 
Smith will be right behind you. They’d get to you 
before anything could happen. . . . Do you under¬ 
stand?” 

“Yes,” replied Joan. 

Red Pearce stirred uneasily. '‘Jack, I’m thinkin* 
some rough talk ’ll come her way,” he said, 
darkly. 

“Wili you shut up!” replied Kells in quick pas¬ 
sion. He resented some implication. “I’ve thought 
of that. She won’t hear what’s said to her. . . . 
Here,” and he turned again to Joan, “take some 
cotton—or anything—and stuff up your ears. Make 
a good job of it.” 

Joan went back to her room and, looking about 
for something with which to execute Kells’s last 
order, she stripped some soft, woolly bits from a 
fleece-lined piece of cloth. With these she essayed 
to deaden her hearing. Then she returned. Kells 
spoke to her, but, though she seemed dully to hear 
his voice, she could not distinguish what he said 
222 


THE BORDER LEGION 

She shook her head. With that Kells waved her 
out upon her strange errand. 

Joan brushed against Cl eve as she crossed the 
threshold. What would he think of this ? She could 
not see his face. When she reached the first tents 
she could not resist the desire to look back. Pearce 
was within twenty yards of her and Smith about the 
same distance farther back. Joan was more curious 
than anything else. She divined that Kells wanted 
her to attract attention, but for what reason she was 
at a loss to say. It was significant that he did not 
intend to let her suffer any indignity while fulfilling 
this mysterious mission. 

Not until Joan got well down the road toward 
the Last Nugget did any one pay any attention to 
her. A Mexican jabbered at her, showing his white 
teeth, flashing his sloe-black eyes. Young miners 
eyed her curiously, and some of them spoke. She 
met all kinds of men along the plank walk, most of 
whom passed by, apparently unobserving. She 
obeyed Kells to the letter. But for some reason she 
was unable to explain, when she got to the row of 
saloons, where lounging, evil-eyed rowdies accosted 
her, she found she had to disobey him, at least in 
one particular. She walked faster. Still that did 
not make her task much easier. It began to be an 
ordeal. The farther she got the bolder men grew. 
Could it have been that Kells wanted this sort of 
thing to happen to her? Joan had no idea what 
these men meant, but she believed that was because 
for the time being she was deaf. Assuredly their 
looks were not a compliment to any girl. Joan 
wanted to hurry now, and she had to force herself 
223 


THE BORDER LEGION 


to walk at a reasonable gait. One persistent fellow 
walked beside her for several steps. Joan was not 
fool enough not to realize now that these wayfarers 
wanted to make her acquaintance. And she decided 
she would have something to say to Kells when she 
got back. 

Below the Last Nugget she crossed the road and 
started upon the return trip. In front of this 
gambling-hell there were scattered groups of men, 
standing, and going in. A tall man in black de¬ 
tached himself and started out, as if to intercept 
her. He wore a long black coat, a black bow tie, and 
a black sombrero. He had little, hard, piercing 
eyes, as black as his dress. He wore gloves and 
looked immaculate, compared with the other men. 
He, too, spoke to Joan, turned to walk with her. 
She looked straight ahead now, frightened, and she 
wanted to run. He kept beside her, apparently talk¬ 
ing. Joan heard only the low sound of his voice. 
Then he took her arm, gently, but with familiarity. 
Joan broke from him and quickened her pace. 

‘ ‘ Say, there! Leave thet girl alone!’ * 

This must have been yelled, for Joan certainly 
heard it. She recognized Red Pearce’s voice. 
And she wheeled to look. Pearce had overhauled 
the gambler, and already men were approaching. 
Involuntarily Joan halted. What would happen? 
The gambler spoke to Pearce, made what appeared 
deprecating gestures, as if to explain. But Pearce 
looked angry. 

“I’ll tell her daddy!” he shouted. 

Joan waited for no more. She almost ram 
There would surely be a fight. Could that have 

224 


THE BORDER LEGION 


been Kells’s intention? Whatever it was, she had 
been subjected to a mortifying and embarrassing 
affront. She was angry, and she thought it might 
be just as well to pretend to be furious. Kells must 
not use her for his nefarious schemes. She hurried 
on, and, to her surprise, when she got within sight of 
the cabin both Pearce and Smith had almost caught 
up with her. Jim Cleve sat where she had last 
seen him. Also Kells was outside. The way he 
strode to and fro showed Joan his anxiety. There 
was more to this incident than she could fathom. 
She took the padding from her ears, to her intense 
relief,-and, soon reaching the cabin, she tore off the 
veil and confronted Kells. 

‘‘Wasn’t that a—a fine thing for you to do?” she 
demanded, furiously. And with the outburst she 
felt her face blazing. “If I’d any idea what you 
meant—you couldn’t—have driven me!... I trusted 
you. And you sent me down there on some—shame¬ 
ful errand of yours. You’re no gentleman!” 

Joan realized that her speech, especially the latter 
part, was absurd. But it had a remarkable effect 
upon Kells. His face actually turned red. He 
stammered something and halted, seemingly at a 
loss for words. How singularly the slightest hint 
of any act or word of hers that approached a possi¬ 
ble respect or tolerance worked upon this bandit! 
He started toward Joan appealingly, but she passed 
him in contempt and. went to her room. She heard 
him cursing Pearce in a rage, evidently blaming his 
lieutenant for whatever had angered her. 

“But you wanted her insulted!” protested Pearce, 
hotly. 


225 


THE BORDER LEGION 


41 You mullet-head!” roared Kells. “I wanted 
some man—any man—to get just near enough to 
her so I could swear she’d been insulted. You let 
her go through that camp to meet real insult! . . , 
Why—! Pearce, I’ve a mind to shoot you!” 

‘‘Shoot!” retorted Pearce. “I obeyed orders as I 
saw them. . . . An’ I want to say right here thet 
when it comes to anythin’ concernin’ this girl 
you’re plumb off your nut. That’s what. An’ you 
can like it or lump it! I said before you’d split over 
this girl. An’ I say it now!” 

Through the door Joan had a glimpse of Cleve 
stepping between the angry men. This seemed un¬ 
necessary, however, for Pearce’s stinging assertion 
had brought Kells to himself. There were a few 
more words, too low for Joan’s ears, and then, accom¬ 
panied by Smith, the three started off, evidently for 
the camp. Joan left her room and watched them 
from the cabin door. Bate Wood sat outside 
smoking. 

“I’m declarin’ my hand,” he said to Joan, feel¬ 
ingly. “I’d never hev stood for thet scurvy tiick. 
Now, miss, this’s the toughest camp I ever ssen. 
I mean tough as to wimmen! For it ’ain’t begun to 
fan guns an’ steal gold yet.” 

“Why did Kells want me insulted?” asked Joan. 

“Wal, he’s got to hev a reason for raisin’ an orful 
fuss,” replied Wood. 

“Fuss?” 

“Shore,” replied Wood, dryly. 

“What for?” 

“Jest so he can walk out on the stage,” rejoined 
Wood, evasively. 


226 


THE BORDER LEGION 


64 It’s mighty strange,” said Joan. 

44 1 reckon all about Mr. Kells is some strange 
these days. Red Pearce had it correct. Kells is 
a-goin’ to split on you!” 

4 ‘What do you mean by that?” 

“Wal, he’ll go one way an’ the gang another.” 

“Why?” asked Joan, earnestly. 

“Miss, there’s some lot of reasons,” said Wood, 
deliberately. 4 ‘Fust, he did for Halloway an’ Bailey, 
not because they wanted to treat you as he meant to, 
but jest because he wanted to be alone. We’re all 
wise thet you shot him—an’ thet you wasn’t his 
wife. An’ since then we’ve seen him gradually lose 
his nerve. He organizes his Legion an’ makes his 
plan to run this Alder Creek red. He still hangs on 
to you. He’d kill any man thet batted an eye at 
you. . . . An’ through all this, because he’s not Jack 
Kells of old, he’s lost his pull with the gang. Sooner 
or later he’ll split.” 

“Have I any real friends among you?” asked 
Joan. 

“Wal, I reckon.” 

“Are you my friend, Bate Wood?” she went on 
in sweet wistfulness. 

The grizzled old bandit removed his pipe and 
looked at her with a glint in his bloodshot eyes. 

“I shore am. I’ll sneak you off now if you’ll go. 
I’ll stick a knife in Kells if you say so.” 

“Oh no, I’m afraid to run off—and you needn’t 
harm Kells. After all, he’s good to me.” 

“Good to you! . . . When he keeps you captive 
like an Indian would? When he’s given me orders 
to watch you—keep you locked up?” 

227 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Wood’s snort of disgust and wrath was thoroughly 
genuine. Still Joan knew that she dared not trust 
him, any more than Pearce or the others. Their 
raw emotions would undergo a change if Kells’s 
possession of her were transferred to them. It oc¬ 
curred to Joan, however, that she might use Wood’s 
friendliness to some advantage. 

“So I’m to be locked up?” she asked. 

“You’re supposed to be.” 

“Without any one to talk to?” 

“Wal, you’ll hev me, when you want. I reckon 
thet ain’t much to look forward to. But I can tell 
you a heap of stories. An’ when Kells ain’t around, 
if you’re careful not to get me ketched, you can do 
as you want.” 

“Thank you, Bate. I’m going to like you,” re¬ 
plied Joan, sincerely, and then she went back to her 
room. There was sewing to do, and while she 
worked she thought, so that the hours sped. When 
the light got so poor that she could sew no longer 
she put the work aside and stood at her little 
window, watching the sunset. From the front of 
the cabin came the sound of subdued voices. Prob¬ 
ably Kells and his men had returned, and she was 
sure of this when she heard the ring of Bate Wood’s 
ax. 

All at once an object darker than the stones 
arrested Joan’s gaze. There was a man sitting on 
the far side of the little ravine. Instantly she 
recognized Jim Cleve. He was looking at the little 
window—at her. Joan believed he was there tor 
just that purpose. Making sure that no one else 
was near to see. she put out her hand and waved it 0 
228 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Jim gave a guarded perceptible sign that he had ob¬ 
served her action, and almost directly got up and 
left. Joan needed no more than that to tell her 
how Jim’s idea of communicating with her corre¬ 
sponded with her own. That night she would talk 
with him and she was thrilled through. The 
secrecy, the peril, somehow lent this prospect a sweet¬ 
ness, a ^est, a delicious fear. Indeed, she was not 
only responding to love, but to daring, to defiance, 
to a wilder nameless element born of her environ¬ 
ment and the needs of the hour. 

Presently Bate Wood called her in to supper. 
Pearce, Smith, and Cleve were finding seats at the 
table, but Kells looked rather sick. Joan ob¬ 
served him then more closely. His face was pale and 
damp, strangely shaded as if there were something 
dark under the pale skin. Joan had never seen him 
appear like this, and she shrank as from another and 
forbidding side of the man. Pearce and Smith acted 
naturally, ate with relish, and talked about the gold- 
diggings. Cleve, however, was not as usual; and 
Joan could not quite make out what constituted the 
dissimilarity. She hurried through her own supper 
and back to her room. 

Already it was dark outside. Joan lay down to 
listen and wait. It seemed long, but probably was 
not long before she heard the men go outside, and 
the low thump of their footsteps as they went away. 
Then came the rattle and bang of Bate Wood’s 
attack on the pans and pots. Bate liked to cook, 
but he hated to clean up afterward. By and by he 
settled down outside for his evening smoke and 
there was absolute quiet. Then Joan rose to stand 
229 


THE BORDER LEGION 


at the window. She could see the dark mass of rock 
overhanging the cabin, the bluff beyond, and the 
stars. For the rest all was gloom. 

She did not have to wait long. A soft step, almost 
indistinguishable, made her pulse beat quicker. 
She put her face out of the window, and on the instant 
a dark form seemed to loom up to meet her out of the 
shadow. She could not recognize that shape, yet 
she knew it belonged to Cleve. 

“Joan,” he whispered. 

“Jim,” she replied, just as low and gladly. 

He moved closer, so that the hand she had grop- 
ingly put out touched him, then seemed naturally 
to slip along his shoulder, round his neck. And his 
face grew clearer in the shadow. His lips met hers, 
and Joan closed her eyes to that kiss. What hope, 
what strength for him and for her now in that meet¬ 
ing of lips! 

“Oh, Jim! I’m so glad—to have you near—to 
touch you,” she whispered. 

“Do you love me still?” he whispered back, 
tensely. 

‘ ‘ Still ? More—more!” 

“Say it, then.” 

“Jim, I love you!” 

And their lips met again and clung, and it was he 
who drew back first. 

“Dearest, why didn’t you let me make a break to 
get away with you—before we came to this camp?” 

“Oh, Jim, I told you. I was afraid. We’d been 
caught. And Gulden—” 

“We’ll never have half the chance ^ere. Kells 
means to keep you closely guarded. ' heard the 
230 


THE BORDER LEGION 


order. He’s different now. He’s grown crafty and 
hard. And the miners of this Alder Creek! Why, 
I’m more afraid to trust them than men like Wood 
or Pearce. They’ve gone clean crazy. Gold-mad! 
If you shouted for your life they wouldn’t hear you. 
And if you could make them hear they wouldn’t 
believe. This camp has sprung up in a night. It’s 
not like any place I ever heard of. It’s not human. 
It’s so strange—so—■ Oh, I don’t know what to say. 
I think I mean that men in a great gold strike become 
like coyotes at a carcass. You’ve seen that. No 
relation at all!” 

“I’m frightened, too, Jim. I wish I’d had the 
courage to run when we were back in Cabin Gulch. 
But don’t ever give up, not for a second! We can 
get away. We must plan and wait. Find out 
where we are—how far from Hoadley—what we 
must expect—whether it’s safe to approach any one 
in this camp.” 

“Safe! I guess not, after to-day,” he whispered, 
grimly. 

“Why? What’s happened?” she asked, quickly. 

“Joan, have you guessed yet why Kells sent you 
down into camp alone?” 

“No.” 

“Listen. ... I went with Kells and Smith and 
Pearce. They hurried straight to the Last Nugget. 
There was a crowd of men in front of the place. 
Pearce walked straight up to one—a gambler by his 
clothes. And he said in a loud voice, ‘Here’s the 
man!’ . . . The gambler looked startled, turned pale, 
and went for his gun. But Kells shot him! ... He 
fell dead, without a word. There was a big shout, 
231 


THE BORDER LEGION 

then silence. Kells stood there with his smoking 
gun. I never saw the man so cool—so masterfuL 
Then he addressed the crowd: ‘This gambler in¬ 
sulted my daughter! My men here saw him. My 
name’s Blight. I came here to buy up gold claims. 
And I want to say this: Your Alder Creek has got 
the gold. But it needs some of your best citizens 
to run it right, so a girl can be safe on the street.’ 

“Joan, I tell you it was a magnificent bluff,” went 
on Jim, excitedly. “And it worked. Kells walked 
away amid cheers. He meant to give an impression 
of character and importance. He succeeded. So far 
as I could tell, there wasn’t a man present who did 
not show admiration for him. I saw that dead 
gambler kicked.” 

“Jim!” breathed Joan. “He killed him—just for 
that!” 

“Just for that—the bloody devil!” 

“But still—what for? Oh, it was cold-blooded 
murder.” 

“No, an even break. Kells made the gambler go 
for his gun. I’ll have to say that for Kells.” 

“It doesn’t change the thing. I’d forgotten what 
a monster he is.” 

“Joan, his motive is plain. This new gold-camp 
has not reached the blood-spilling stage yet. It 
hadn’t, I should say. The news of this killing will 
fly. It ’ll focus minds on this claim-buyer, Blight. 
His deed rings true—like that of an honest man with 
a daughter to protect. He’ll win sympathy. Then 
he talks as if he were prosperous. Soon he’ll be 
represented in this changing, growing population as 
a man of importance. He’ll play the card for all he’s 
232 


THE BORDER LEGION 

worth. Meanwhile, secretly he’ll begin to rob the 
miners. It ’ll be hard to suspect him. His plot is 
just like the man—great!” 

“Jim, oughtn’t we tell?” whispered Joan, trem¬ 
bling. 

“I’ve thought of that. Somehow I seem to feel 
guilty. But whom on earth could we tell? We 
wouldn’t dare speak here. . . . Remember—you’re a 
prisoner. I’m supposed to be a bandit—one of the 
Border Legion. How to get away from here and 
save our lives—that’s what tortures me.” 

“Something tells me we’ll escape, if only we can 
plan the right way. Jim, I’ll have to be penned here, 
with nothing to do but wait. You must come every 
night! . . . Won’t you?” 

For an answer he kissed her again. 

“Jim, what ’ll you do meanwhile?” she asked, 
anxiously. 

“I’m going to work a claim. Dig for gold. I 
told Kells so to-day, and he was delighted. He said 
he was afraid his men wouldn’t like the working part 
of his plan. It’s hard to dig gold. Easy to steal it. 
But I’ll dig a hole as big as a hill!.. . Wouldn’t it be 
funny if I struck it rich?” 

“Jim, you’re getting the fever.” 

“Joan, if I did happen to run into a gold-pocket— 
there ’re lots of them found—would—you—marry 
me?” 

The tenderness, the timidity, and the yearning in 
Cleve’s voice told Joan as never before how he had 
hoped and feared and despaired. She patted his 
cheek with her hand, and in the darkness, with her 
heart swelling to make up for what she had done to 
233 


THE BORDER LEGION 


him, she felt a boldness and a recklessness, sweety 
tumultuous, irresistible. 

“Jim, I’ll marry you—whether you strike gold or 
not,” she whispered. 

And there was another blind, sweet momentc 
Then Cleve tore himself away, and Joan leaned at 
the window, watching the shadow, with tears in her 
eyes and an ache in her breast. 

From that day Joan lived a life of seclusion in the 
small room. Kells wanted it so, and Joan thought 
best for the time being not to take advantage of Bate 
Wood’s duplicity. Her meals were brought to her by 
Wood, who was supposed to unlock and lock her door a 
But Wood never turned the key in that padlock. 

Prisoner though Joan was, the days and nights 
sped swiftly. 

Kells was always up till late in the night and slept 
half of the next morning. It was his wont to see 
Joan every day about noon. He had a care for his 
appearance. When he came in he was dark, for¬ 
bidding, weary, and cold. Manifestly he came to 
her to get rid of the impondering burden of the 
present. He left it behind him. He never spoke a 
word of Alder Creek, of gold, of the Border Legion. 
Always he began by inquiring for her welfare, by 
asking what he could do for her, what he could 
bring her. Joan had an abhorrence of Kells in his 
absence that she never felt when he was with her; 
and the reason must have been that she thought 
of him, remembered him as the bandit, and saw him 
as another and growing character. Always mindful 
of her influence, she was as companionable, as 
234 


THE BORDER LEGION 


sympathetic, as cheerful, and sweet as it was pos¬ 
sible for her to be. Slowly he would warm and 
change under her charm, and the grim gloom, the 
dark strain, would pass from him. When that left 
he was indeed another person. Frankly he told 
Joan that the glimpse of real love she had simulated 
back there in Cabin Gulch was seldom out of his 
mind. No woman had ever kissed him like she had. 
That kiss had transfigured him. It haunted him. 
If he could not win kisses like that from Joan’s lips, 
of her own free will, then he wanted none. No 
other woman’s lips would ever touch his. And he 
begged Joan in the terrible earnestness of a stem and 
hungering outcast for her love. And Joan could 
only sadly shake her head and tell him she was sorry 
for him, that the more she really believed he loved 
her the surer she was that he would give her up. 
Then always he passionately refused. He must have 
her to keep, to look at as his treasure, to dream 
over, and hope against hope that she would love him 
some day. Women sometimes learned to love their 
captors, he said; and if she only learned, then he 
would take her away to Australia, to distant lands. 
But most of all he begged her to show him again 
what it meant to be loved by a good woman. And 
Joan, who knew that her power now lay in her un¬ 
attainableness, feigned a wavering reluctance, when 
in truth any surrender was impossible. He left her 
with a spirit that her presence gave him, in a kind of 
trance, radiant, yet with mocking smile, as if he fore¬ 
saw the overthrow of his soul through her, and in the 
light of that his waning power over his Legion was 
as nothing. 

16 


23S 


THE BORDER LEGION 


In the afternoon he went down into camp to 
strengthen the associations he had made, to buy 
claims, and to gamble. Upon his return Joan, peep¬ 
ing through a crack between the boards, could always 
tell whether he had been gambling, whether he had 
won or lost. 

Most of the evenings he remained in his cabin, 
which after dark became a place of mysterious and 
stealthy action. The members of his Legion visited 
him, sometimes alone, never more than two together. 
Joan could hear them slipping in at the hidden 
aperture in the back of the cabin; she could hear 
the low voices, but seldom what was said; she could 
hear these night prowlers as they departed. After¬ 
ward Kells would have the lights lit, and then Joan 
could see into the cabin. Was that dark, haggard 
man Kells? She saw him take little buckskin sacks 
full of gold-dust and hide them under the floor. 
Then he would pace the room in his old familiar 
manner, like a caged tiger. Later his mood usually 
changed with the advent of Wood and Pearce and 
Smith and Cleve, who took turns at guard and going 
down into camp. Then Kells would join them in a 
friendly game for small stakes. Gambler though he 
was, he refused to allow any game there that might 
lead to heavy wagering. From the talk sometimes 
Joan learned that he played for exceedingly large 
stakes with gamblers and prosperous miners, usually 
with the same result—a loss. Sometimes he won, 
however, and then he would crow over Pearce and 
Smith, and delight in telling them how cunningly he 
had played. 

Jim Cleve had his bed up under the bulge of bluff, 
236 


THE BORDER LEGION 


in a sheltered nook. Kells had appeared to like this 
idea, for some reason relative to his scout system, 
which he did not explain. And Cleve was happy 
about it because this arrangement left him absolutely 
free to have his nightly rendezvous with Joan at her 
window, sometime between dark and midnight. Her 
bed was right under the window: if awake she could 
rest on her knees and look out; and if she was asleep 
he could thrust a slender stick between the boards 
to awaken her. But the fact was that Joan lived 
for these stolen meetings, and unless he could not 
come until very late she waited wide-eyed and listen¬ 
ing for him. Then, besides, as long as Kells was stir¬ 
ring in the cabin she spent her time spying upon him. 

Jim Cleve had gone to an unfrequented part of the 
gulch, for no particular reason, and here he had 
located his claim. The very first day he struck gold. 
And Kells, more for advertisement than for any 
other motive, had his men stake out a number of 
claims near Cleve’s, and bought them. Then they 
had a little field of their own. All found the rich 
pay-dirt, but it was Cleve to whom the goddess of 
fortune turned her bright face. As he had been 
lucky at cards, so he was lucky at digging. His claim 
paid big returns. Kells spread the news, and that 
part of the gulch saw a rush of miners. 

Every night Joan had her whispered hour with 
Cleve, and each succeeding one was the sweeter. 
Jim had become a victim of the gold fever. But, 
having Joan to steady him, he did not lose his head. 
If he gambled it was to help out with his part. He 
was generous to his comrades. He pretended to 
drink, but did not drink at all. Jim seemed to re- 
237 


THE BORDER LEGION 


gard his good fortune as Joan’s also. He believed if 
he struck it rich he could buy his sweetheart’s free¬ 
dom. He claimed that Kells was drunk for gold to 
gamble away. Joan let Jim talk, but she coaxed 
him and persuaded him to follow a certain line of 
behavior, she planned for him, she thought for him, 
she influenced him to hide the greater part of his gold- 
dust, and let it be known that he wore no gold-belt. 
She had a growing fear that Jim’s success was likely 
to develop a temper in him inimical to the cool, 
waiting, tolerant policy needed to outwit Kells in the 
end. It seemed the more gold Jim acquired the more 
passionate he became, the more he importuned Joan, 
the more he hated Kells. Gold had gotten into his 
blood, and it was Joan’s task to keep him sane. 
Naturally she gained more by yielding herself to 
Jim’s caresses than by any direct advice or admonish¬ 
ment. It was her love that held Jim in check. 

One night, the instant their hands met Joan knew 
that Jim was greatly excited or perturbed. 

“Joan,” he whispered, thrillingly, with his lips 
at her ear, “I’ve made myself solid with Kells! 
Oh, the luck of it!” 

“Tell me!” whispered Joan, and she leaned against 
those lips. 

“It was early to-night at the Nugget. I dropped 
in as usual. Kells was playing faro again with that 
gambler they call Flash. He’s won a lot of Kells’s 
gold—a crooked gambler. I looked on. And some 
of the gang were there—Pearce, Blicky, Handy 
Oliver, and of course Gulden, but all separated, 
Kells was losing and sore. But he was game. All 
at once he caught Flash in a crooked trick, and he 
238 


THE BORDER LEGION 


yelled in a rage. He sure had the gang and every¬ 
body else looking. I expected—and so did all the 
gang—to see Kells pull his gun. But strange how 
gambling affects him! He only cursed Flash— 
called him right. You know that’s about as bad as 
death to a professional gambler in a place like 
Alder Creek. Flash threw a derringer on Kells. 
He had it up his sleeve. He meant to kill Kells, 
and Kells had no chance. But Flash, having the 
drop, took time to talk, to make his bluff go strong 
with the crowd. And that’s where he made a mis¬ 
take. I jumped and knocked the gun out of his 
hand. It went off—burned my wrist. Then I 
slugged Mr. Flash good—he didn’t get up. . . . Kells 
called the crowd around and, showing the cards as 
they lay, coolly proved that Flash was what every-. 
body suspected. Then Kells said to me—I’ll never 
forget how he looked: ‘Youngster, he meant to do 
for me. I neyer thought of my gun. You see! . . . 
I’ll kill him the next time we meet. ... I’ve owed my 
life to men more than once. I never forget. You 
stood pat with me before. And now you’re ace 
high!”’ 

“Was it fair of you?” asked Joan. 

“Yes. Flash is a crooked gambler. I’d rather be 
a bandit. . . . Besides, all’s fair in love! And I was 
thinking of you when I saved Kells.” 

“Flash will be looking for you,” said Joan, fear¬ 
fully. 

‘ ‘ Likely. And if he finds me he wants to be quick. 
But Kells will drive him out of camp or kill him. I 
tell you, Kells is the biggest man in Alder Creek. 
There’s talk of office—a mayor and all that—and if 
239 


THE BORDER LEGION 

the miners can forget gold long enough they’ll elect 
Kells. But the riffraff, these blood-suckers who 
live off the miners, they’d rather not have any office 
in Alder Creek.” 

And upon another night Cleve in serious and som¬ 
ber mood talked about the Border Legion and its 
mysterious workings. The name had found prom¬ 
inence, no one knew how, and Alder Creek knew no 
more peaceful sleep. This Legion was supposed to 
consist of a strange, secret band of unknown bandits 
and road-agents, drawing its members from all tha£ 
wild and trackless region called the border. Rumji 
gave it a leader of cunning and ruthless nature. It 
operated all over the country at the same time, and 
must have been composed of numerous smaller 
bands, impossible to detect. Because its victims 
never lived to tell how or by whom they had been 
robbed! This Legion worked slowly and in the 
dark. It did not bother to rob for little gain. It 
had strange and unerring information of large quan¬ 
tities of gold-dust. Two prospectors going out on 
the Bannack road, packing fifty pounds of gold, 
were found shot to pieces. A miner named Black, 
who would not trust his gold to the stage-express, 
and who left Alder Creek against advice, was never 
seen or heard of again. Four other miners of the 
camp, known to carry considerable gold, were 
robbed and killed at night on their way to their 
cabins. And another was found dead in his bed. 
Robbers had crept to his tent, slashed the canvas, 
murdered him while he slept, and made off with his 
belt of gold. 


240 


THE BORDER LEGION 


An evil day of blood had fallen upon Alder Creek. 
There were terrible and implacable men in the midst 
of the miners, by day at honest toil, learning who had 
gold, and murdering by night. The camp had never 
been united, but this dread fact disrupted any pos¬ 
sible unity. Every man, or every little group of 
men, distrusted the other, watched and spied and 
lay awake at night. But the robberies continued, 
one every few days, and each one left no trace. For 
dead men could not talk. 

Thus was ushered in at Alder Creek a regime of 
wildness that had no parallel in the earlier days of 
*49 and ’51. Men frenzied by the possession of gold 
or greed for it responded to the wildness of that time 
and took their cue from this deadly and mysterious 
Border Legion. The gold-lust created its own blood- 
lust. Daily the population of Alder Creek grew in 
the new gold-seekers and its dark records kept pace. 
With distrust came suspicion and with suspicion came 
fear, and with fear came hate—and these, in already 
distorted minds, inflamed a hell. So that the most 
primitive passions of mankind found outlet and held 
sway. The operations of the Border Legion were 
lost in deeds done in the gambling-dens, in the 
saloons, and on the street, in broad day. Men 
fought for no other reason than that the incentive 
was in the charged air. Men were shot at gaming¬ 
tables—and the game went on. Men were killed 
in the dance-halls, dragged out, marking a line of 
blood on the rude floor—and the dance went on. 
Still the pursuit of gold went on, more frenzied than 
ever, and still the greater and richer claims were 
struck. The price of gold soared and the commod- 
241 


THE BORDER LEGION 


ities of life were almost beyond the dreams of avarice.. 
It was a time in which the worst of men’s natures 
stalked forth, hydra-headed and deaf, roaring for 
gold, spitting fire, and shedding blood. It was a 
time when gold and fire and blood were one. It was 
a time when a horde of men from every class and 
nation, of all ages and characters, met on a field 
where motives and ambitions and faiths and traits 
merged into one mad instinct of gain. It was worse 
than the time of the medieval crimes of religion; 
it made war seem a brave and honorable thing; it 
robbed manhood of that splendid and noble trait, 
always seen in shipwrecked men or those hope¬ 
lessly lost in the barren north, the divine will not 
to retrograde to the savage. It was a time, for all 
it enriched the world with yellow treasure, when 
might was right, when men were hopeless, when 
death stalked rampant. The sun rose gold and it 
set red. It was the hour of Gold! 

One afternoon late, while Toan was half dreaming, 
half dozing the hours away, she was thoroughly 
aroused by the tramp of boots and loud voices of ex¬ 
cited men. Joan slipped to the peephole in the parti¬ 
tion. Bate Wood had raised a warning hand to Kells, 
who stood up, facing the door. Red Pearce came 
bursting in, wild-eyed and violent. Joan imagined 
he was about to cry out that Kells had been betrayed. 

“Kells, have you—heard?” he panted. 

“Not so loud, you—!” replied Kells, coolly. 
“My name’s Blight. . . . Who’s with you?” 

“Only Jesse an’ some of the gang. I couldn’t 
steer them away. But there’s nothin’ to fear.” 

242 


THE BORDER LEGION 


15 ‘What’s happened? What haven’t I heard?” 

“The camp’s gone plumb ravin’ crazy. . . . Jim 
Cleve found the biggest nugget ever dug in Idaho! 
. . . Thirty pounds /” 

Kells seemed suddenly to inflame, to blaze with 
white passion. ‘ ‘ Good for Jim!” he yelled, ringingly. 
He could scarcely have been more elated if he had 
made the strike himself. 

Jesse Smith came stamping in, with a crowd elbow¬ 
ing their way behind him. Joan had a start of the 
old panic at sight of Gulden. For once the giant 
was not slow nor indifferent. His big eyes glared. 
He brought back to Joan the sickening sense of the 
brute strength of his massive presence. Some of his 
cronies were with him. For the rest, there were 
Blicky and Handy Oliver and Chick Williams. 
The whole group bore resemblance to a pack of 
wolves about to leap upon its prey. Yet, in each 
man, excepting Gulden, there was that striking as¬ 
pect of exultation. 

“Where’s Jim?” demanded Kells. 

“He’s cornin’ along,” replied Pearce. “He’s sure 
been runnin’ a gantlet. His strike stopped work in 
the diggin’s. What do you think of thet, Kells? 
The news spread like smoke before wind. Every last 
miner in camp has jest got to see thet lump of gold.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to see it!” exclaimed Kells. 
“A thirty-pounder! I heard of one once, sixty 
pounds, but I never saw it. You can’t believe till 
you see.” 

“Jim’s cornin’ up the road now,” said one of the 
men near the door. “Thet crowd hangs on. . . . 
But I reckon he’s shakin’ them.” 

243 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“What ’ll Cleve do with this nugget?” 

Gulden’s big voice, so powerful, yet feelingless, 
caused a momentary silence. The expression of 
many faces changed. Kells looked startled, then 
annoyed. 

“Why, Gulden, that’s not my affair—nor yours,” 
replied Kells. ‘‘Cleve dug it and it belongs to him.” 

“Dug or stole—it’s all the same,” responded 
Gulden. 

Kells threw up his hands as if it were useless and 
impossible to reason with this man. 

Then the crowd surged round the door with 
shuffling boots and hoarse, mingled greetings to 
Cleve, who presently came plunging in out of the 
melee. 

His face wore a flush of radiance; his eyes were 
like diamonds. Joan thrilled and thrilled at sight 
of him. He was beautiful. Yet there was about 
him a more striking wildness. He carried a gun in 
one hand and in the other an object wrapped in his 
scarf. He flung this upon the table in front of 
Kells. It made a heavy, solid thump. The ends 
of the scarf flew aside, and there lay a magnificent 
nugget of gold, black and rusty in parts, but with a 
dull, yellow glitter in others. 

“Boss, what ’ll you bet against that?” cried Cleve, 
with exulting laugh. He was like a boy. 

Kells reached for the nugget as if it were not an 
actual object, and when his hands closed on it he 
fondled it and weighed it and dug his nails into it 
and tasted it. 

“My God!” he ejaculated, in wondering ecstasy. 
Then this, and the excitement, and the obsession all 
244 


THE BORDER LEGION 


changed into sincere gladness. “Jim, you’re born 
lucky. You, the youngster bom unlucky in love! 
Why, you could buy any woman with this!” 

“Could I? Find me one,” responded Cleve, with 
swift boldness. 

Kells laughed. “I don’t know any worth so 
much.” 

“What ’ll I do with it?” queried Cleve. 

“Why, you fool youngster! Has it turned your 
head, too? What’d you do with the rest of your 
dust? You’ve certainly been striking it rich.” 

‘ ‘ I spent it—lost it—lent it—gave some away and 
—saved a little.” 

'‘Probably you’ll do the same with this. You’re 
a good fellow, Jim.” 

“But this nugget means a lot of money. Between 
six and seven thousand dollars.” 

“You won’t need advice how to spend it, even if it 
was a million. . . . Tell me, Jim, how’d you strike 
it?” 

‘ ‘Funny about that, ’’ replied Cleve. ‘ ‘ Things were 
poor for several days. Dug off branches into my 
claim. One grew to be a deep hole in gravel, hard 
to dig. My claim was once the bed of a stream,, 
full of rocks that the water had rolled down once. 
This hole sort of haunted me. I’d leave it when 
my back got so sore I couldn’t bend, but always 
I’d return. I’d say there wasn’t a darned grain of 
gold in that gravel; then like a fool I’d go back and 
dig for all I was worth. No chance of finding blue 
dirt down there! But I kept on. And to-day when 
my pick hit what felt like a soft rock—I looked and 
saw the gleam of gold! ... You ought to have seen 
245 


THE BORDER LEGION 


me claw out that nugget! I whooped and brought 
everybody around. The rest was a parade. . . . 
Now I’m embarrassed by riches. What to do with 
it?” 

41 Wal, go back to Montana an* make thet fool girl 
sick,” suggested one of the men who had heard 
Jim’s fictitious story of himself. 

“Dug or stole is all the same!” boomed the im° 
perturbable Gulden. 

Kells turned white with rage, and Cleve swept 
a swift and shrewd glance at the giant. 

“Sure, that’s my idea,” declared Cleve. “I’ll 
divide as—as we planned.” 

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” retorted Kells. 
“You dug for that gold and it’s yours.” 

“Well, boss, then say a quarter share to you and 
the same to me—and divide the rest among the 
gang.” 

“No!” exclaimed Kells, violently. 

Joan imagined he was actuated as much by justice 
to Cleve as opposition to Gulden. 

“Jim, Cleve, you’re a square pard if I ever seen 
one,” declared Pearce, admiringly. “An’ I’m here 
to say thet I wouldn’t hev a share of your nugget.' 8 

“Nor me,” spoke up Jesse Smith. 

“I pass, too,” said Chick Williams. 

“Jim, if I was dyin’ fer a drink I wouldn’t stand 
fer thet deal,” added Blicky, with a fine scorn. 

These men, and others who spoke or signified their 
refusal, attested to the living truth that there was 
honor even among robbers. But there was not the 
slightest suggestion of change in Gulden’s attitude or 
of those back of him. 


246 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Share and share alike for me!” he muttered, 
grimly, with those great eyes upon the nugget. 

Kells, with an agile bound, reached the table and 
pounded it with his fist, confronting the giant. 

‘ * So you say! ” he hissed in dark passion. ‘ ‘ You’ve 
gone too far, Gulden. Here’s where I call you! . . . 
You don’t get a grain of that gold nugget. Jim’s 
worked like a dog. If he digs up a million I’ll see 
he gets it all. Maybe you loafers haven’t a hunch 
what Jim’s done for you. He’s helped our big deal 
more than you or I. His honest work has made it 
easy for me to look honest. He’s supposed to be 
engaged to marry my daughter. That more than 
anything was a blind. It made my stand, and I 
tell you that stand is high in this camp. Go down 
there and swear Blight is Jack Kells! See what you 
get! . . . That’s all. . . . I’m dealing the cards in this 
game!” 

Kells did not cow Gulden—for it was likely the 
giant lacked the feeling of fear—but he overruled 
him by sheer strength of spirit. 

Gulden backed away stolidly, apparently dazed 
by his own movements; then he plunged out the 
door, and the ruffians who had given silent but sure 
expression of their loyalty tramped after him. 

‘‘Reckon thet starts the split!” declared Red 
Pearce. 

“Suppose you’d been in Jim’s place!” flashed 
Kells. 

“Jack, I ain’t sayin’ a word. You was square, 
I’d want you to do the same by me. . . . But fetchin 
the girl into the deal—” 

Kells passionate and menacing gesture shut 
247 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Pearce’s lips. He lifted a hand, resignedly, and went 
out. 

4 'Jim,” said Kells, earnestly, “take my hunch. 
Hide your nugget. Don’t send it out with the stage 
to Bannack. It’d never get there. . . . And change 
the place where you sleep!” 

“Thanks,” replied Cleve, brightly. “I’ll hide my 
nugget all right. And I’ll take care of myself.” 

Later that night Joan waited at her window for 
Jim. It was so quiet that she could hear the faint 
murmur of the shallow creek. The sky was dusky 
blue; the stars were white, the night breeze sweet 
and cool. Her first flush of elation for Jim having 
passed, she experienced a sinking of courage. Were 
they not in peril enough without Jim finding a 
fortune? How dark and significant had been Kells’s 
hint! There was something splendid in this bandit. 
Never had Joan felt so grateful to him. He was a 
villain, yet he was a man. What hatred he showed 
for Gulden! These rivals would surely meet in a 
terrible conflict—for power—for gold. And for her* 
—she added, involuntarily, with deep, inward shud¬ 
der. Once the thought had flashed through her 
mind, it seemed like a word of revelation. 

Then she started as a dark form rose out of the 
shadow under her and a hand clasped hers. Jim! 
and she lifted her face. 

“Joan! Joan! I’m rich! rich!” he babbled, wildly. 

4 4 ’ Ssssh!’ ’ whispered Joan, softly, in his ear. 4 4 Be 
careful. You’re wild to-night. ... I saw you come 
in with the nugget. I heard you. . . . Oh, you lucky 
Jim! I'll tell you what to do with it!” 

248 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“Darling! It’s all yours. You’ll marry me 
now?” 

‘‘Sir! Do you take me for a fortune-hunter? I 
marry you for your gold ? N ever!’ ’ 

“Joan!” 

“I’ve promised,” she said. 

“I won’t go away now. I’ll work my claim,” he 
began, excitedly. And he went on so rapidly that 
Joan could not keep track of his words. He was not 
so cautious as formerly. She remonstrated with 
him, all to no purpose. Not only was he carried 
away by possession of gold and assurance of more, 
but he had become masterful, obstinate, and illog¬ 
ical. He was indeed hopeless to-night—the gold 
had gotten into his blood. Joan grew afraid he 
would betray their secret and realized there had 
come still greater need for a woman’s wit. So she 
resorted to a never-failing means of silencing him, of 
controlling him—her lips on his. 


CHAPTER XV 


F OR several nights these stolen interviews were 
apparently the safer because of Joan’s tender 
blinding of her lover. But it seemed that in Jim’s 
condition of mind this yielding of her lips and her 
whispers of love had really been a mistake. Not 
only had she made the situation perilously sweet 
for herself, but in Jim’s case she had added the spark 
to the powder. She realized her blunder when it 
was too late. And the fact that she did not regret 
it very much, and seemed to have lost herself in a 
defiant, reckless spell, warned her again that she, 
too, was answering to the wildness of the time and 
place. Joan’s intelligence had broadened wonder¬ 
fully in this period of her life, just as all her feelings 
had quickened. If gold had developed and inten¬ 
sified and liberated the worst passions of men, so the 
spirit of that atmosphere had its baneful effect upon 
her. Joan deplored this, yet she had the keenness to 
understand that it was nature fitting her to survive. 

Back upon her fell that weight of suspense—what 
would happen next ? Here in Alder Creek there did 
not at present appear to be the same peril which had 
menaced her before, but she would suffer through 
fatality to Cleve or Kells. And these two slept at 
night under a shadow that held death, and by day 
they walked on a thin crust over a volcano. Joan 
250 


THE BORDER LEGION 


grew more and more fearful of the disclosures made 
when Kells met his men nightly in the cabin. She 
feared to hear, but she must hear, and even if she 
had not felt it necessary to keep informed of events, 
the fascination of the game would have impelled 
her to listen. And gradually the suspense she suf- 
tered augmented into a magnified, though vague, 
assurance of catastrophe, of impending doom. She 
could not shake off the gloomy presentiment. Some¬ 
thing terrible was going to happen. An experience 
begun as tragically as hers could only end in a final 
and annihilating stroke. Yet hope was unquench¬ 
able, and with her fear kept pace a driving and re¬ 
lentless spirit. 

One night at the end of a week of these interviews, 
when Joan attempted to resist Jim, to plead with 
him, lest in his growing boldness he betray them, she 
found him a madman. 

“I’ll pull you right out of this window,” he said, 
roughly, and then with his hot face pressed against 
hers tried to accomplish the thing he threatened. 

“Go on—pull me to pieces!” replied Joan, in 
despair and pain. “I’d be better off dead! And- 
you—hurt me—so!” 

“Hurt you!” he whispered, hoarsely, as if he had 
never dreamed of such possibility. And then sud¬ 
denly he was remorseful. He begged her to forgive 
him. His voice was broken, husky, pleading. His 
remorse, like every feeling of his these days, was 
exaggerated, wild, with that raw tinge of gold-blood 
in it. He made so much noise that Joan, more 
fearful than ever of discovery, quieted him with 
difficulty. 

17 


251 


THE BORDER LEGION 


4 ‘Does Kells see you often—these days?” asked 
Jim, suddenly. 

Joan had dreaded this question, which she had 
known would inevitably come. She wanted to lie; 
she knew she ought to lie; but it was impossible. 

“Every day,” she whispered. “Please—Jim— 
never mind that. Kells is good—he’s all right to 
me. . . . And you and I have so little time to¬ 
gether.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Cleve. Joan felt the leap of 
his body under her touch. “Why, if I’d tell you 
what he sends that gang to do—you’d—you’d kill 
him in his sleep.” 

“Tell me,” replied Joan. She had a morbid, 
irresistible desire to learn. 

“No. . . . And what does Kells do—when he 
sees you every day?” 

“He talks.” 

“What about?” 

“Oh, everything except about what holds him 
here. He talks to me to forget himself.” 

“Does he make love to you?” 

Joan maintained silence. What could she do 
with this changed and hepeless Jim Cleve? 

“Tell me!” Jim’s hands gripped her with a force 
that made her wince. And now she grew as afraid 
of him as she had been for him. But she had 
spirit enough to grow angry, also. 

“Certainly he does.” 

Jim Cleve echoed her first word, and then through 
grinding teeth he cursed. “I’m going to—stop it!” 
he panted, and his eyes looked big and dark and wild 
in the starlight. 


2^2 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“You can’t. I belong to Kells. You at least 
ought to have sense enough to see that.” 

4 ‘Belong to him! . . . For God’s sake! By what 
right?” 

“By the right of possession. Might is right here 
on the border. Haven’t you told me that a hundred 
times? Don’t you hold your claim—your gold—by 
the right of your strength? It’s the law of this bor¬ 
der. To be sure Kells stole me. But just now I 
belong to him. And lately I see his consideration— 
his kindness in the light of what he could do if he 
held to that border law. . . . And of all the men I’ve 
met out here Kells is the least wild with this gold 
fever. He sends his men out to do murder for gold; 
he’d sell his soul to gamble for gold; but just the 
same, he’s more of a man than—” 

“Joan!” he interrupted, piercingly. “You love 
this bandit!” 

“You’re a fool!” burst out Joan. 

“I guess—I—am,” he replied in terrible, slow 
earnestness. He raised himself and appeared to 
loom over her and released his hold. 

But Joan fearfully retained her clasp on his arm, 
and when he surged to get away she was hard put 
to it to hold him. 

“Jim! Where are you going?” 

He stood there a moment, a dark form against 
the night shadow, like an outline of a man cut from 
black stone. 

“I’ll just step around—there.” 

“Oh, what for?” whispered Joan. 

“I’m going to kill Kells.” 

taan got both arms round his neck and with her 
2 S 3 


THE BORDER LEGION 


head against him she held him tightly, trying, 
praying to think how to meet this long-dreaded 
moment. After all, what was the use to try? This 
was the hour of Gold! Sacrifice, hope, courage, 
nobility, fidelity—these had no place here now. 
Men were the embodiment of passion—ferocity. 
They breathed only possession, and the thing in the 
balance was death. Women were creatures to hun¬ 
ger and fight for, but womanhood was nothing. 
Joan knew all this with a desperate hardening cer¬ 
tainty, and almost she gave in. Strangely, thought 
of Gulden flashed up to make her again strong! 
Then she raised her face and began the old pleading 
with Jim, but different this time, when it seemed that 
absolutely all was at stake. She begged him, she 
importuned him, to listen to reason, to be guided by 
her, to fight the wildness that had obsessed him, to 
make sure that she would not be left alone. All in 
vain! He swore he would kill Kells and any other 
bandit who stood in the way of his leading her free 
out of that cabin. He was wild to fight. He 
might never have felt fear of these robbers. He 
would not listen to any possibility of defeat for him¬ 
self, of the possibility that in the event of Kells*s 
death she would be worse off. He laughed at her 
strange, morbid fears of Gulden. He was im¬ 
movable. 

“Jim! . . . Jim! You’ll break my heart!’* she 
whispered, wailingly. “Oh! what can I do?” 

Then Joan released her clasp and gave up to utter 
defeat. Cleve was silent. He did not seem to hear 
the shuddering little sobs that shook her. Suddenly 
he bent close to her. 


2*4 


THE BORDER LEGION 


4 ‘There's one thing you can do. If you’ll do it I 
won’t kill Kells. I’ll obey your every word.” 

“What is it? Tell me!” 

4 4 Marry me!” he whispered, and his voice trembled. 

44 Marry you /” exclaimed Joan. She was con¬ 
founded. She began to fear Jim was out of his head. 

“I mean it. Marry me. Oh, Joan, will you— 
will you ? It ’ll make the difference. That ’ll steady 
me. Don’t you want to?” 

“Jim, I’d be the happiest girl in the world if—if 
I only could marry you!” she breathed, passionately. 

4 ‘ But will you—will you ? Say yes! Say yes!” 

“Yes!” replied Joan in her desperation. “I hope 
that pleases you. But what on earth is the use to 
talk about it now?” 

Cleve seemed to expand, to grow taller, to thrill 
under her nervous hands. And then he kissed her 
differently. She sensed a shyness, a happiness, a 
something hitherto foreign to his attitude. It was 
spiritual, and somehow she received an uplift of hope. 

“Listen,” he whispered. “There’s a preacher 
down in camp. I’ve seen him—talked with him. 
He’s trying to do good in that hell down there. I 
know I can trust him. I’ll confide in him—enough. 
I’ll fetch him up here to-morrow night—about this 
time. Oh, I’ll be careful—very careful. And he can 
marry us right here by the window. Joan, will you 
do it?. . . Somehow, whatever threatens you or me— 
that ’ll be my salvation! . . . I’ve suffered so. It’s 
been burned in my heart that you would never marry 
me. Yet you say you love me!. . . Prove it!. . . My 
wife! . . . Now, girl, a word will make a man of me!” 

“Yes!” And with the word she put her lips to 
255 


THE BORDER LEGION 

his with all her heart in them. She felt him tremble, 
Yet almost instantly he put her from him. 

'‘Look for me to-morrow about this time,” he 
whispered. “Keep your nerve. . . . Good night.” 

That night Joan dreamed strange, weird, unre¬ 
membered dreams. The next day passed like a slow, 
unreal age. She ate little of what was brought to 
her. For the first time she denied Kells admittance 
and she only vaguely sensed his solicitations. She 
had no ear for the murmur of voices in Kells’s room 0 
Even the loud and angry notes of a quarrel between 
Kells and his men did not distract her. 

At sunset she leaned out of the little window, and 
only then, with the gold fading on the peaks and th^ 
shadow gathering under the bluff, did she awaken 
to reality. A broken mass of white cloud caught 
the glory of the sinking sun. She had never seen a 
golden radiance like that. It faded and dulledo 
But a warm glow remained. At twilight and then at 
dusk this glow lingered. 

Then night fell. Joan was exceedingly sensitive 
to the sensations of light and shadow, of sound and 
silence, of dread and hope, of sadness and joy. 

That pale, ruddy glow lingered over the bold 
heave of the range in the west. It was like a fire 
that would not go out, that would live to- morrow, and 
burn golden. The sky shone with deep, rich blue 
color fired with a thousand stars, radiant, speaking, 
hopeful. And there was a white track across the 
heavens. The mountains flung down their shadows, 
impenetrable, like the gloomy minds of men; and 
everywhere under the bluffs and slopes, in the hoh 
256 


THE BORDER LEGION 


lows and ravines, lay an enveloping blackness, hiding 
its depth and secret and mystery. 

Joan listened. Was there sound or silence? A 
faint and indescribably low roar, so low that it 
might have been real or false, came on the soft night 
breeze. It was the roar of the camp down there— 
the strife, the agony, the wild life in ceaseless action— 
the strange voice of gold, roaring greed and battle 
and death over the souls of men. But above that, 
presently, rose the murmur of the creek, a hushed 
and dreamy flow of water over stones. It was 
hurrying to get by this horde of wild men, for it 
must bear the taint of gold and blood. Would it 
purge itself and clarify in the valleys below, on its 
way to the sea? There was in its murmur an im¬ 
perishable and deathless note of nature, of time; 
and this was only a fleeting day of men and gold. 

Only by straining her ears could Joan hear these 
sounds, and when she ceased that, then she seemed 
to be weighed upon and claimed by silence. It was 
not a silence like that of Lost Canon, but a silence 
of solitude where her soul stood alone. She was 
there on earth, yet no one could hear her mortal 
cry. The thunder of avalanches or the boom of the 
sea might have lessened her sense of utter loneliness. 

And that silence fitted the darkness, and both were 
apostles of dread. They spoke to her. She breathed 
dread on that silent air and it filled her breast. 
There was nothing stable in the night shadows. 
The ravine seemed to send forth stealthy, noiseless 
shapes, specter and human, man and phantom, each 
on the other’s trail. 

Ii Jim would only come and let her see that he was 

2*7 


THE BORDER LEGION 


safe for the hour! A hundred times she imagined 
she saw him looming darker than the shadows. She 
had only to see him now, to feel his hand, and dread 
might be lost. Love was something beyond the 
grasp of mind. Love had confounded Jim Cleve: 
it had brought up kindness and honor from the 
black depths of a bandit’s heart; it had transformed 
her from a girl into a woman. Surely with all its 
greatness it could not be lost; surely in the end it 
must triumph over evil. 

Joan found that hope was fluctuating, but eternal. 
It took no stock of intelligence. It was a matter of 
feeling. And when she gave rein to it for a moment, 
suddenly it plunged her into sadness. To hope was 
to think! Poor Jim! It was his fool’s paradise. 
Just to let her be his wife! That was the shibboleth 
of his dream. Joan divined that he might yield to 
her wisdom, he might become a man, but his agony 
would be greater. Still, he had been so intense, so 
strange, so different that she could not but feel joy 
in his joy. 

Then at a soft footfall, a rustle, and a moving 
shadow Joan’s mingled emotions merged into a 
poignant sense of the pain and suspense and tender¬ 
ness of the actual moment. 

“Joan—Joan,” came the soft whisper. 

She answered, and there was a catch in her breath. 

The moving shadow split into two shadows that 
stole closer, loomed before her. She could not tell 
which belonged to Jim till he touched her. His 
touch was potent. It seemed to electrify her. 

“Dearest, we’re here—this is the parson,” said 
Jim, like a happy boy. ‘ ‘ I—’ ’ 

258 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“’Ssssh!” whispered Joan. “Not so loud. 0 • . 
Listen!” 

Kells was holding a rendezvous with members of 
his Legion. Joan even recognized his hard and som¬ 
ber tone, and the sharp voice of Red Pearce, and the 
drawl of Handy Oliver. 

“All right. I’ll be quiet,” responded Cleve, cau¬ 
tiously. “Joan, you’re to answer a few questions.” 

Then a soft hand touched Joan, and a voice dif¬ 
ferently keyed from any she had heard on the border 
addressed her. 

“What is your name?” asked the preacher. 

Joan told him. 

“Can you tell anything about yourself? This 
young man is—is almost violent. I’m not sure. 
Still I want to—” 

“I can’t tell much,” replied Joan, hurriedly. 
“I’m an honest girl. I’m free to—to marry him. 
I—I love him!... Oh, I want to help him. We—we 
are in trouble here. I daren’t say how.” 

“Are you over eighteen?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Do your parents object to this young man?” 

“I have no parents. And my uncle, with whom 
I lived before I was brought to this awful place, 
he loves Jim. He always wanted me to marry 
him.” 

“Take his hand, then.” 

Joan felt the strong clasp of Jim’s fingers, and 
that was all which seemed real at the moment. It 
seemed so dark and shadowy round these two black 
forms in front of her window. She heard a mournful 
wail of a lone wolf and it intensified the weird dream 
259 


THE BORDER LEGION 


that bound her. She heard her shaking, whispered 
voice repeating the preacher’s words. She caught a 
phrase of a low-murmured prayer. Then one dark 
form moved silently away. She was alone with Jim. 

“Dearest Joan!” he whispered. “It’s over! It’s 
done! . . . Kiss me!” 

She lifted her lips and Jim seemed to kiss her 
more sweetly, with less violence. 

“Oh, Joan, that you’d really have me! I can't 
believe it. . . . Your husband .” 

That word dispelled the dream and the pain 
which had held Joan, leaving only the tenderness, 
magnified now a hundredfold. 

And that instant when she was locked in Cleve’s 
arms, when the silence was so beautiful and full, she 
heard the heavy pound of a gun-butt upon the table 
in Kells’s room. 

“Where is Cleve?” That was the voice of Kells, 
stern, demanding. 

Joan felt a start, a tremor run over Jim. Then he 
stiffened. 

“I can’t locate him,” replied Red Pearce. “It 
was the same last night an’ the one before. Cleve 
jest disappears these nights—about this time. . . „ 
Some woman’s got him!” 

‘ ‘ He goes to bed. Can’t you find where he sleeps ?” 

“No.” 

“This job’s got to go through and he’s got to do 
it.” 

“Bah!” taunted Pearce. “Gulden swears you 
can’t make Cleve do a job. And so do I!” 

“Go out and yell for Cleve! . . .Damn you all! 
I’ll show you!” 


260 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Then Joan heard the tramp of heavy boots, then 
a softer tramp on the ground outside the cabin. 
Joan waited, holding her breath. She felt Jim’s 
heart beating. He stood like a post. He, like Joan, 
was listening, as if for a trumpet of doom. 

“Hallo, Jim!” rang out Pearce’s stentorian call. 
It murdered the silence. It boomed under the bluff ,' 
and clapped in echo, and wound away, mockingly. 
It seemed to have shrieked to the whole wild border¬ 
land the breaking-point of the bandit’s power. 

So momentous was the call that Jim Cleve seemed 
to forget Joan, and she let him go without a word. 
Indeed, he was gone before she realized it, and his 
dark form dissolved in the shadows. Joan waited, 
[listening with abated breathing. On this side of 
the cabin there was absolute silence. She believed 
that Jim would slip around under cover of night and 
return by the road from camp. Then what would 
he do? The question seemed to stultify her. 

Joan leaned there at her window for moments 
greatly differing from those vaguely happy ones just 
passed. She had sustained a shock that had left 
her benumbed with a dull pain. What a rude, raw 
break the voice of Kells had made in her brief for¬ 
getfulness ! She was returning now to reality. 
Presently she would peer through the crevice be¬ 
tween the boards into the other room, and she 
shrank from the ordeal. Kells, and whoever was 
with him, maintained silence. Occasionally she 
heard the shuffle of a boot and a creak of the loose 
floor boards. She waited till anxiety and fear com¬ 
pelled her to look. 


261 


THE BORDER LEGION 


The lamps were burning; the door was wide open. 
Apparently Kells’s rule of secrecy had been aban¬ 
doned. One glance at Kells was enough to show 
Joan that he was sick and desperate. Handy Oliver 
did not wear his usual lazy good humor. Red 
Pearce sat silent and sullen, a smoking, unheeded 
pipe in his hand. Jesse Smith was gloomy. The 
only other present was Bate Wood, and whatever 
had happened had in no wise affected him. These 
bandits were all waiting. 

Presently quick footsteps on the path outside 
caused them all to look toward the door. That 
tread was familiar to Joan, and suddenly her 
mouth was dry, her tongue stiff. What was Jim 
Cleve coming to meet? How sharp and decided 
his walk! Then his dark form crossed the bar of 
light outside the door, and he entered, bold and cool, 
and with a weariness that must have been simulated. 

“Howdy, boys!” he said. 

Only Kells greeted him in response. The bandit 
eyed him curiously. The others added suspicion to 
their glances. 

“Did you hear Red’s yell?” queried Kells, pres¬ 
ently. 

“I’d have heard that roar if I’d been dead,” re¬ 
plied Cleve, bluntly. “And I didn’t like iti ... I 
was coming up the road and I heard Pearce yell. 
I’ll bet every man in camp heard it.” 

“How’d you know Pearce yelled for you?” 

“I recognized his voice.” 

Cleve’s manner recalled to Joan her first sight of 
him over in Cabin Gulch. He was not so white or 
haggard, but his eyes were piercing, and what had 
262 


THE BORDER LEGION 


once been recklessness now seemed to be boldness. 
He deliberately studied Pearce. Joan trembled, for 
she divined what none of these robbers knew, and it 
was that Pearce was perilously near death. It was 
there for Joan to read in Jim’s dark glance. 

“ Where’ve you been all these nights?” queried the 
bandit leader. 

“Is that any of your business—when you haven’t 
had need of me?” returned Cleve. 

“Yes, it’s my business. And I’ve sent for you. 
You couldn’t be found.” 

“I’ve been here for supper every night.” 

“I don’t talk to my men in daylight. You know 
my hours for meeting. And you’ve not come.” 

“You should have told me. How was I to 
know?” 

“I guess you’re right. But where’ve you been?” 

“Down in camp. Faro, most of the time. Bad 
luck, too.” 

Red Pearce’s coarse face twisted into a scornful 
sneer. It must have been a lash to Kells. 

“Pearce says you’re chasing a woman,” retorted • 
the bandit leader. 

“Pearce lies!” flashed Cleve. His action was as 
swift. And there he stood with a gun thrust hard 
against Pearce’s side. 

“Jim! Don’t kill him!” yelled Kells, rising. 

Pearce’s red face turned white. He stood still as a 
stone, with his gaze fixed in fascinated fear upon 
Cleve’s gun. 

A paralyzing surprise appeared to hold the group, 

“Can you prove what you said?” asked Cleve, 
low and hard. 


263 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Joan knew that if Pearce did have the proof 
which would implicate her he would never live to 
tell it. 

“Cleve—I don’t—know nothin’,” choked out 
Pearce. “I jest figgered—it was a woman!” 

Cleve slowly lowered the gun and stepped backo 
Evidently that satisfied him. But Joan had an in¬ 
tuitive feeling that Pearce lied. 

“You want to be careful how you talk about me,” 
said Cleve. 

Kells puffed out a suspended breath and he flung 
the sweat from his brow. There was about him, 
perhaps more than the others, a dark realization of 
now close the call had been for Pearce. 

“Jim, you’re not drunk?” 

“No.” 

“But you’re sore?” 

“Sure I’m sore. Pearce put me in bad with you, 
didn’t he?” 

“No. You misunderstood me. Red hasn’t a 
thing against you. And neither he nor anybody else 
could put you in bad with me.” 

“All right. Maybe I was hasty. But I’m not 
wasting time these days,” replied Cleve. “I’ve no 
hard feelings. . . . Pearce, do you want to shake hands 
■—or hold that against me?” 

“He’ll shake, of course,” said Kells. 

Pearce extended his hand, but with a bad grace. 
He was dominated. This affront of Cleve’s would 
rankle in him. 

“Kells, what do you want with me?” demanded 
Cleve. 

A change passed over Kells, and Joan could not 
264 


THE BORDER LEGION 


tell just what it was, but somehow it seemed to sug¬ 
gest a weaker man. 

“Jim, you’ve been a great card for me,” began 
Kells, impressively. “You’ve helped my game— 
and twice you saved my life. I think a lot of you. 
... If you stand by me now I swear I’ll return the 
trick some day. . . . Will you stand by me?” 

“Yes,” replied Cleve, steadily, but he grew pale. 
“What’s the trouble?” 

“By-, it’s bad enough!” exclaimed Kells, and 

as he spoke the shade deepened in his haggard face. 
“Gulden has split my Legion. He has drawn away 
more than half my men. They have been drunk 
and crazy ever since. They’ve taken things into 
their own hands. You see the result as well as I. 
That camp down there is fire and brimstone. Some 
one of that drunken gang has talked. We’re none 
of us safe any more. I see suspicion everywhere. 
I’ve urged getting a big stake and then hitting the 
trail for the border. But not a man sticks to me in 
that. They all want the free, easy, wild life of this 
gold-camp. So we’re anchored till—till . . . But 
maybe it’s not too late. Pearce, Oliver, Smith—all 
the best of my Legion—profess loyalty to me. If we 
all pull together maybe we can win yet. But they’ve 
threatened to split, too. And it’s all on your 
account!” 

“Mine?” ejaculated Cleve. 

“Yes. Now it’s nothing to make you flash your 
gun. Remember you said you’d stand by me. . . . 
Jim, the fact is—all the gang to a man believe you’re 
double-crossing me!” 

“In what way?” queried Cleve, blanching. 

265 



THE BORDER LEGION 

“They think you’re the one who has talked. 
They blame you for the suspicion that’s growing. ,r 

“Well, they’re absolutely wrong,” declared Cleve, 
in a ringing voice. 

“I know they are. Mind you I’m not hinting I 
distrust you. I don’t. I swear by you. But 
Pearce—” 

“So it’s Pearce,” interrupted Cleve, darkly. “I 
thought you said he hadn’t tried to put me in bad 
with you.” 

“He hasn’t. He simply spoke his convictions. 
He has a right to them. So have all the men. 
And, to come to the point, they all think you’re 
crooked because you’re honest!” 

“I don’t understand,” replied Cleve, slowly. 

“Jim, you rode into Cabin Gulch, and you raised 
some trouble. But you were no bandit. You 
joined my Legion, but you’ve never become a bandit. 
Here you’ve been an honest miner. That suited my 
plan and it helped. But it’s got so it doesn’t suit 
my men. You work every day hard. You’ve 
struck it rich. You’re well thought of in Alder 
Creek. You’ve never done a dishonest thing. Why, 
you wouldn’t turn a crooked trick in a card game for 
a sack full of gold. This has hurt you with my 
men. They can’t see as I see, that you’re as square 
as you are game. They see you’re an honest miner. 
They believe you’ve got into a clique—that you’ve 
given us away. I don’t blame Pearce or any of my 
men. This is a time when men’s intelligence, if they 
have any, doesn’t operate. Their brains are on fire. 
They see gold and whisky and blood, and they feel 
gold and whisky and blood. That’s all. I’m glad 
266 


THE BORDER LEGION 


that the gang gives you the benefit of a doubt and a 
chance to stand by me.” 

“A chance!” 

“Yes. They’ve worked out a job for you alone. 
Will you undertake it?” 

“I’ll have to,” replied Cleve. 

“You certainly will if you want the gang to justify 
my faith in you. Once you pull off a crooked deal, 
they’ll switch and swear by you. Then we’ll get 
together, all of us, and plan what to do about Gulden 
and his outfit. They’ll run our heads, along with 
their own, right into the noose.” 

“What is this—this job?” labored Cleve. He was 
sweating now and his hair hung damp over his brow. 
He lost that look which had made him a bold man 
and seemed a boy again, weak, driven, bewildered. 

Kells averted his gaze before speaking again. 
He hated to force this task upon Cleve. Joan felt, 
in the throbbing pain of the moment, that if sh© 
never had another reason to like this bandit, she 
would like him for the pity he showed. 

“Do you know a miner named Creede?” asked 
Kells, rapidly. 

“A husky chap, short, broad, something like 
Gulden for shape, only not so big—fellow with a 
fierce red beard?” asked Cleve. 

“I never saw him,” replied Kells. “But Pearce 
has. How does Cleve’s description fit Creede?” 

“He’s got his man spotted,” answered Pearce. 

“All right, that’s settled,” went on Kells, warming 
to his subject. “This fellow Creede wears a heavy 
belt of gold. Blicky never makes a mistake. 
Creede’s partner left on yesterday’s stage for 

18 26 7 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Bannack. He’ll be gone a few days. Creeds is a 
hard worker—one of the hardest. Sometimes he 
goes to sleep at his supper. He’s not the drinking 
kind. He’s slow, thick-headed. The best time for 
this job will be early in the evening—just as soon as 
his lights are out. Locate the tent. It stands at the 
head of a little wash and there’s a bleached pine-tree 
right by the tent. To-morrow night as soon as it 
gets dark crawl up this wash—be carerul—wait till 
the right time—then finish the job quick! 1 ’ 

“How—finish—it?” asked Cleve, hoarsely. 

Kells was scintillating now, steely, cold, radiant. 
He had forgotten the man before him in the prospect 
of the gold. 

“Creede’s cot is on the side of the tent opposite 
the tree. You won’t have to go inside. Slit the 
canvas. It’s a rotten old tent. Kill Creede with 
your knife. . . . Get his belt. ... Be bold, cautious, 
swift! That’s your job. Now what do you say?” 

“All right,” responded Cleve, somberly, and with 
a heavy tread he left the room. 

After Jim had gone Joan still watched and listened. 
She was in distress over his unfortunate situation, 
but she had no fear that he meant to carry out Kells’s 
plan. This was a critical time for Jim, and there¬ 
fore for her. She had no idea what Jim could do; 
all she thought of was what he would not do. 

Kells gazed triumphantly at Pearce. ‘ ‘ I told yota 
the youngster would stand by me. I never put him 
on a job before.” 

“Reckon I figgered wrong, boss,” replied Pearce. 

“He looked sick to me, but game,” said Hancbf 
268 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Oliver. “Kells is right, Red, an’ you’ve been sore¬ 
headed over nothin’!” 

“Mebbe. But ain’t it good figgerin’ to make 
Cleve do some kind of a job, even if he is on the 
square?” 

They all acquiesced to this, even Kells slowly nod¬ 
ding his head. 

“Jack, I’ve thought of another an’ better job for 
young Cleve,” spoke up Jesse Smith, with his charac¬ 
teristic grin. 

“You’ll all be setting him jobs now,” replied 
Kells. “What’s yours?” 

“You spoke of plannin’ to get together once more 
—what’s left of us. An’ there’s thet bull-head 
Gulden.” 

“You’re sure right,” returned the leader, grimly, 
and he looked at Smith as if he would welcome any 
suggestion. 

“I never was afraid to speak my mind,” went on 
Smith. Here he lost his grin and his coarse mouth 
grew hard. “Gulden will have to be killed if we’re 
goin’ to last!” 

“Wood, what do you say?” queried Kells, with 
narrowing eyes. 

Bate Wood nodded as approvingly as if he had 
been asked about his bread. 

“Oliver, what do you say?” 

“Wal, I’d love to wait an’ see Gul hang, but if you 
press me, I’ll agree to stand pat with the cards 
Jesse’s dealt,” replied Handy Oliver. 

Then Kells turned with a bright gleam upon his 
face. “And you—Pearce?” 

“I’d say yes in a minute if I’d not have to take 
269 


THE BORDER LEGION 


a hand in thet job,” replied Pearce, with a hard 
laugh. “Gulden won’t be so easy to kill. He’ll 
pack a gunful of lead. I’ll gamble if the gang of us 
cornered him in this cabin he’d do for most of us 
before we killed him.” 

“Gul sleeps alone, no one knows where,” said 
Handy Oliver. “An’ he can’t be surprised. Red’s 
correct. How ’re we goin’ to kill him?” 

8 'If you gents will listen you’ll find out,” rejoined 
Jesse Smith. “Thet’s the job for young Cleve. He 
can do it. Sure Gulden never was afraid of any 
man. But somethin’ about Cleve bluffed him. f 
don’t know what. Send Cleve out after Gulden. 
He’ll call him face to face, anywhere, an’ beat him 
to a gun! . . . Take my word for it.” 

“Jesse, that’s the grandest idea you ever had,” 
said Kells, softly. His eyes shone. The old power 
came back to his face. “I split on Gulden. With 
him once out of the way—!” 

“Boss, are you goin’ to make thet Jim Cleve’s 
second job?” inquired Pearce, curiously. 

“I am,” replied Kells, with his jaw corded and 
stiff. 

“If he pulls thet off you’ll never hear a yap from 
me so long as I live. An’ I’ll eat out of Cleve’s 
hand.” 

Joan could bear to hear no more. She staggered 
to her bed and fell there, all cramped as if in a cold 
vise. However Jim might meet the situation 
planned for murdering Creede, she knew he would 
not shirk facing Gulden with deadly intent. He 
hated Gulden because she had a horror of him. 

270 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Would these hours of suspense never end? Must 
she pass from one torture to another until—? 

Sleep did not come for a long time. And when it 
did she suffered with nightmares from which it 
seemed she could never awaken. 

The day, when at last it arrived, was no better 
than the night. It wore on endlessly, and she who 
listened so intently found it one of the silent days. 
Only Bate Wood remained at the cabin. He ap¬ 
peared kinder than usual, but Joan did not want to 
talk. She ate her meals, and passed the hours 
watching from the window and lying on the bed. 
Dusk brought Kells and Pearce and Smith, but not 
Jim Cleve. Handy Oliver and Blicky arrived at 
supper-time. 

'‘Reckon Jim’s appetite is pore,” remarked Bate 
Wood, reflectively. “He ’ain’t been in to-day.” 

Some of the bandits laughed, but Kells had a 
twinge, if Joan ever saw a man have one. The dark, 
formidable, stem look was on his face. He alone of 
the men ate sparingly, and after the meal he took to 
his bent posture and thoughtful pacing. Joan saw 
the added burden of another crime upon his shoul¬ 
ders. Conversation, which had been desultory, and 
such as any miners or campers might have indulged 
in, gradually diminished to a word here and there, 
and finally ceased. Kells always at this hour had a 
dampening effect upon his followers. More and 
more he drew aloof from them, yet he never realized 
that. He might have been alone. But often he 
glanced out of the door, and appeared to listen. 
Of course he expected Jim Cleve to return, but what 
did he expect of him? Joan had a blind faith thrt 
271 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Jim would be cunning enough to fool Kells and 
Pearce. So much depended upon it! 

Some of the bandits uttered an exclamation,, 
Then silently, like a shadow, Jim Cleve entered. 

Joan’s heart leaped and seemed to stand still. 
Jim could not have looked more terrible if he were 
really a murderer. He opened his coat. Then he 
flung a black object upon the table and it fell with a 
soft, heavy, sodden thud. It was a leather belt 
packed with gold. 

When Kells saw that he looked no more at the pale 
Cleve. His clawlike hand swept out for the belt, 
lifted and weighed it. Likewise the other bandits, 
with gold in sight, surged round Kells, forgetting 
Cleve. 

“Twenty pounds!” exclaimed Kells, with a 
strange rapture in his voice. 

“Let me heft it?” asked Pearce, thrillingly. 

Joan saw and heard so much, then through a kind 
of dimness, that she could not wipe away, her eyes 
beheld Jim. What was the awful thing that she 
interpreted from his face, his mien? Was this a part 
he was playing to deceive Kells ? The slow-gathering 
might of her horror came with the meaning of that 
gold-belt. Jim had brought back the gold-belt of 
the miner Creede. He had, in his passion to remain 
near her, to save her in the end, kept his word to Kells 
and done the ghastly deed. 

Joan reeled and sank back upon the bed, blindly c . 
with darkening sight and mind. 


CHAPTER XVI 


J OAN returned to consciousness with a sense of 
vague and unlocalized pain which she thought 
was that old, familiar pang of grief. But once fully 
awakened, as if by a sharp twinge, she became aware 
that the pain was some kind of muscular throb in 
her shoulder. The instant she was fully sure of this 
the strange feeling ceased. Then she lay wide-eyed 
in the darkness, waiting and wondering. 

Suddenly the slight sharp twinge was repeated. 
It seemed to come from outside her flesh. She 
shivered a little, thinking it might be a centipede. 
When she reached for her shoulder her hand came 
in contact with a slender stick that had been thrust 
through a crack between the boards. Jim was 
trying to rouse her. This had been his method on 
several occasions when she had fallen asleep after 
waiting long for him. 

Joan got up to the window, dizzy and sick with 
the resurging memory of Jim’s return to Kells with 
that gold-belt. 

Jim rose out of the shadow and felt for her, 
clasped her close. Joan had none of the old thrill; 
her hands slid loosely round his; and every second 
the weight inwardly grew heavier. 

4 'Joan! I had a time waking you,” whispered Jim 9 
and then he kissed her. 4 * Why, you’re as cold as ice . 99 
273 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Jim—I—I must have fainted,” she repliedo 

“What for?” 

“I was peeping into Kells’s cabin, when you— 
you—” 

“Poor kid!” he interrupted, tenderly. “YouVe 
had so much to bear! . . . Joan, I fooled Kells. Oh, 
I was slick!. . . He ordered me out on a job—to kill 
a miner! Fancy that! And what do you think? 
I know Creede well. He’s a good fellow. I traded 
my big nugget for his gold-belt!” 

“You traded —you—didn’t—kill him!” faltered 
Joan. 

“Hear the child talk!” exclaimed Cleve, with a 
low laugh. 

Joan suddenly clung to him with all her might, 
quivering in a silent joy. It had not occurred to 
Jim what she might have thought. 

“Listen,” he went on. “I traded my nugget. It 
was worth a great deal more than Creede’s gold-belt. 
He knew this. He didn’t want to trade. But I 
coaxed him. I persuaded him to leave camp—to 
walk out on the road to Bannack. To meet the 
stage somewhere and go on to Bannack, and stay 
a few days. He sure was curious. But I kept my 
secret. . . . Then I came back here, gave the belt to 
Kells, told him I had followed Creede in the dark, 
had killed him and slid him into a deep hole in the 
creek. . . . Kells and Pearce—none of them paid any 
attention to my story. I had the gold-belt. That 
was enough. Gold talks—fills the ears of these 
bandits. ... I have my share of Creede’s gold-dust 
in my pocket. Isn’t that funny? Alas for my—■ 
your big nugget! But we’ve got to play the game,, 
274 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Besides, I’ve sacks and cans of gold hidden away* 
Joan, what ’ll we do with it all? You’re my wife 
now. And, oh! if we can only get away with it 
you’ll be rich!” 

Joan could not share his happiness any more than 
she could understand his spirit. She remembered. 

“Jim—dear—did Kells tell you what your—next 
job was to be?” she whispered, haltingly. 

Cleve swore under his breath, but loud enough to 
make Joan swiftly put her hand over his lips and 
caution him. 

“Joan, did you hear that about Gulden?” he asked,, 

“Oh yes.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you. Yes, 
I’ve got my second job. And this one I can’t shirk 
or twist around.” 

Joan held to him convulsively. She could scarcely 
speak. 

“Girl, don’t you lose your nerve!” he said, sternly. 
“When you married me you made me a man. I’ll 
play my end of the game. Don’t fear for me. 
You plan when we can risk escape. I’ll obey you 
to the word.” 

“But Jim—oh, Jim!” she moaned. “You’re as 
wild as these bandits. You can’t see your danger, 
o . . That terrible Gulden! ... You don’t mean to 
meet him—fight him? . . . Say you won’t!” 

“Joan, I’ll meet him—and I’ll kill him,” whispered 
Jim, with a piercing intensity. “You never knew I 
was swift with a gun. Well, I didn’t, either, till I 
struck the border. I know now. Kells is the only 
man I’ve seen who can throw a gun quicker than I Q 
Gulden is a big bull. He’s slow. I’ll get into a 
i 27s 


THE BORDER LEGION 


card-game with him—I’ll quarrel over gold—I’ll 
smash him as I did once before—and this time I 
won’t shoot off his ear. I’ve my nerve now. Kells 
swore he’d do anything for me if I stand by him 
now. I will. You never can tell. Kells is losing 
his grip. And my standing by him may save 
you.” 

Joan drew a deep breath. Jim Cleve had indeed 
come into manhood. She crushed down her woman¬ 
ish fears and rose dauntless to the occasion. She 
would never weaken him by a lack of confidence. 

“Jim, Kells’s plot draws on to a fatal close,” she 
said, earnestly. “I feel it. He’s doomed. He 
doesn’t realize that yet. He hopes and plots on. 
When he falls, then he’ll be great—terrible. We 
must get away before that comes. What you said 
about Creede has given me an idea. Suppose we 
plan to slip out some night soon, and stop the 
stage next day on its way to Bannack?” 

“I’ve thought of that. But we must have 
horses.” 

“Let’s go afoot. We’d be safer. There’d not be 
so much to plan.” 

“But if we go on foot we must pack guns and 
grub—and there’s my gold-dust. Fifty pounds or 
more! It’s yours, Joan. . . . You’ll need it all. 
You love pretty clothes and things. And now I’ll 
get them for you or—or die.” 

“Hush! That’s foolish talk, with our very lives 
at stake. Let me plan some more. Oh, I think so 
hard! . . . And, Jim, there’s another thing. Red 
Pearce was more than suspicious about your absence 
from the cabin at certain hours. What he hinted to 
276 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Kells about a woman in the case! I’m afraid he 
suspects or knows.” 

“He had me cold, too,” replied Cleve, thought¬ 
fully. “But he swore he knew nothing.” 

“Jim, trust a woman’s instinct. Pearce lied. 
That gun at his side made him a liar. He knew 
you’d kill him if he betrayed himself by a word. 
Oh, look out for him!” 

Cleve did not reply. It struck Joan that he was 
not listening, at least to her. His head was turned, 
rigid and alert. He had his ear to the soft wind. 
Suddenly Joan heard a faint rustle—then another. 
They appeared to come from the corner of the cabin. 
Silently Cleve sank down into the shadow and 
vanished. Low, stealthy footsteps followed, but 
Joan was not sure whether or not Cleve made them. 
They did not seem to come from the direction he 
usually took. Besides, when he was careful he never 
made the slightest noise. Joan strained her ears, 
only to catch the faint sounds of the night. She 
lay back upon her bed, worried and anxious again, 
and soon the dread returned. There were to be n<? 
waking or sleeping hours free from this portent of 
calamity. 

Next morning Joan awaited Kells, as was her 
custom, but he did not appear. This was the third 
time in a w$ek that he had forgotten or avoided her 
or had been prevented from seeing her. Joan was 
glad, yet the fact was not reassuring. The issue foi 
Kells was growing from trouble to disaster. 

Early in the afternoon she hear Kells returning 
from camp. He had men with him. They cor^ 
277 


THE BORDER LEGION 


versed in low, earnest tones. Joan was about to 
spy ;pon them when Kells’s step approached her 
door. He rapped and spoke: 

“Put on Dandy Dale’s suit and mask, and come 
out her<s> ’ he said. 

The tone of his voice as much as the content of his 
words startled Joan so that she did not at once reply„ 

“Do you hear?” he called, sharply. 

“Yes,” replied Joan. 

Then he went back to the men, and the low, earnest 
conversation was renewed. 

Reluctantly Joan took down Dandy Dale’s things 
from the pegs, and with a recurring shame she 
divested herself of part of her clothes and donned the 
suit and boots and mask and gun. Her spirit rose, 
however, at the thought that this would be a disguise 
calculated to aid her in the escape with Cleve. But 
why had Kells ordered the change? Was he in 
danger and did he mean to flee from Alder Creek? 
Joan found the speculation a relief from that haunt¬ 
ing, persistent thought of Jim Cleve and Gulden. 
She was eager to learn, still she hesitated at the door. 
It was just as hard as ever to face those men. 

But it must be, so with a wrench she stepped out 
boldly. 

Kells looked worn and gray. He had not slept. 
But his face did not wear the shade she had come to 
associate with his gambling and drinking. Six 
other men were present, and Joan noted coats and 
gloves and weapons and spurs. Kells turned to 
address her. His face lighted fleetingly. 

“I want you to be ready to ride any minute,” he 
said. 


278 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“Why?” asked Joan. 

“We may have to, that’s all,” he replied. 

His men, usually so keen when they had a chance 
to ogle Joan, now scarcely gave her a glance. They 
were a dark, grim group, with hard eyes and tight 
lips. Handy Oliver was speaking. 

“I tell you, Gulden swore he seen Creede—on the 
road—in the lamplight—last night after Jim Cleve 
got here.” 

“Gulden must have been mistaken,” declared 
Kells, impatiently. 

“He ain’t the kind to make mistakes,” replied 
Oliver. 

“Gul’s seen Creede’s ghost, thet’s what,” sug¬ 
gested Blicky, uneasily. “I’ve seen a few in my 
time.” 

Some of the bandits nodded gloomily. 

“Aw!” burst out Red Pearce. “Gulden never 
seen a ghost in his life. If he seen Creede he’s seen 
him alive /” 

“Shore you’re right, Red,” agreed Jesse Smith. 

“But, men—Cleve brought in Creede’s belt—and 
we’ve divided the gold,” said Kells. “You all know 
Creede would have to be dead before that belt could 
be unbuckled from him. There’s a mistake.” 

“Boss, it’s my idee thet Gul is only makin’ more 
trouble,” put in Bate Wood. “I seen him less than 
an hour ago. I was the first, one Gul talked to. 
An’ he knew Jim Cleve did for Creede. How’d 
he know? Thet was supposed to be a secret. 
What’s more, Gul told me Cleve was on the job to 
kill him. How’d he ever find thet out ? . . . Sure as 
God made little apples Cleve never told him!” 

279 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Kells’s face grew livid and his whole body vibrated 
c< Maybe one of Gulden’s gang was outside, listening 
when we planned Cieve’s job,” he suggested. Bu^ 
his look belied his hope. 

“Naw! There’s a nigger in the wood-pile, yon 
can gamble on thet,” blurted out the sixth bandit, 
a lean-faced, bold-eyed, blond-mustached felloe 
whose name Joan had never heard. 

“I won’t believe it,” replied Kells, doggedly 
“‘And you, Budd, you’re accusing somebody present 
of treachery—or else Cleve. He’s the only one nc 
here who knew.” 

“Wal, I always said thet youngster was slick/ 
replied Budd. 

“ Will you accuse him to his face?” 

“I shore will. Glad of the chance.” 

“Then you’re drunk or just a fool.” 

“Thet so?” 

“Yes, that’s so,” flashed Kells. “You don’t know 
Cleve. He’ll kill you. He’s lightning with a gun. 
Do you suppose I’d set him on Gulden’s trail if 1 
wasn’t sure? Why, I wouldn’t care to—” 

“Here comes Cleve,” interrupted Pearce, sharply. 

Rapid footsteps sounded without. Then Joan 
saw Jim Cleve darken the doorway. He looi:ed keen 
and bold. Upon sight of Joan in her changed attire 
he gave a slight start. 

“Budd, here’s Cleve,” called out Red Pearce p 
mockingly. “Now say it to his face!” 

In the silence that ensued Pearce’s spirit dominated 
the moment with its cunning, hate, and violence. 
But Kells savagely leaped in front of the men, still 
master of the situation. 

280 


THE BORDER LEGION 


66 Red, what’s got into you?” he hissed. 4 ‘You’re 
eross-grained lately. You’re sore. Any more of this 
and I’ll swear you’re a disorganizer. . . . Now, Budd, 
you keep your mouth shut. And you, Cleve, you 
pay no heed to Budd if he does gab. ... We’re in bad 
and all the men have chips on their shoulders. 
We’ve got to stop fighting among ourselves.” 

“Wal, boss, there’s a power of sense in a good 
example,” dryly remarked Bate Wood. His remark 
calmed Kells and eased the situation. 

“Jim, did you meet Gulden?” queried Kells, 
eagerly. 

“Can’t find him anywhere,” replied Cleve. “I’ve 
loafed in the saloons and gambling-hells where he 
hangs out. But he didn’t show up. He’s in camp. 
I know that for a fact. He’s laying low for some 
reason.” 

“Gulden’s been tipped off, Jim,” said Kells, ear¬ 
nestly. “He told Bate Wood you were out to kill 
him.” 

“I’m glad. It wasn’t a fair hand you were going 
to deal him,” responded Cleve. “But who gave my 
job away? Some one in this gang wants me done 
for—more than Gulden.” 

Cleve’s flashing gaze swept over the motionless 
men and fixed hardest upon Red Pearce. Pearce 
gave back hard look for hard look. 

“Gulden told Oliver more,” continued Kells, and 
he pulled Cleve around to face him. “Gulden swore 
he saw Creede alive last night. . 0 » Late last 

night /” 

“That’s funny/ 8 replied Cleve, without the flicker 
of an eyelash. 


281 


THE BORDER LEGION 


3 Tt’s not funny. But it’s queer. Gulden hasn't 
the moral sense to lie. Bate says he wants to make 
trouble between you and me. I doubt that. I 
don’t believe Gulden could see a ghost, either. He’s 
simply mistaken some miner for Creede.” 

“He sure has, unless Creede came back to life^ 
I’m not sitting on his chest now, holding him down.” 

Kells drew back, manifestly convinced and relieved. 
This action seemed to be a magnet for Pearce. He 
detached himself from the group, and, approaching 
Kells, tapped him significantly on the shoulder; and 
whether by design or accident the fact was that he 
took a position where Kells was between him and 
Cleve. 

“Jack, you’re being double-crossed here—an* by 
more ’n one,” he said, deliberately. “But if you 
want me to talk you’ve got to guarantee no gun- 
play.” 

“Speak up, Red,” replied Kells, with a glinting 
eye. “I swear there won’t be a gun pulled.” 

The other men shifted from one foot to another 
and there were deep-drawn breaths. Jim Cleve 
alone seemed quiet and cool. But his eyes were 
ablaze. 

“Fust off an’ for instance here’s one who’s double¬ 
crossin’ you,” said Pearce, in slow, tantalizing speech, 
as if he wore out this suspense to torture Kells* 
And without ever glancing at Joan he jerked a 
thumb, in significant gesture, at her. 

Joan leaned back against the wall, trembling and 
cold all over. She read Pearce’s mind. He knew 
her secret and meant to betray her and Jim. He 
hated Kells and wanted to torture him. If only she 
282 


THE BORDER LEGIOiN 


could think quickly and speak! But she seemed 
dumb and powerless. 

“Pearce, what do you mean?” demanded Kells. 

“The girl’s double-crossin’ you,” replied Pearce. 
With the uttered words he grew pale and agitated. 

Suddenly Kells appeared to become aware of 
Joan’s presence and that the implication was 
directed toward her. Then, many and remarkable 
as had been the changes Joan had seen come over 
him, now occurred one wholly greater. It had all 
his old amiability, his cool, easy manner, veiling a 
deep and hidden ruthlessness, terrible in contrast. 

“Red, I thought our talk concerned men and gold 
and—things,” he said, with a cool, slow softness that 
had a sting, “but since you’ve nerve enough or are 
crazy enough to speak of— her —why, explain your 
meaning.” 

Pearce’s jaw worked so that he could scarcely talk. 
He had gone too far—realized it too late. 

“She meets a man—back there—at her window,” 
he panted. “They whisper in the dark for hours. 
I’ve watched an’ heard them. An’ I’d told you 
before, but I wanted to make sure who he was. . . . 
I know him now! „ . . An’ remember I seen him 
climb in an’ out—” 

Kells’s whole frame leaped. His gun was a 
flash of blue and red and white all together. Pearce 
swayed upright, like a tree chopped at the roots, 
and then fell, face up, eyes set—dead. The bandit 
leader stood over him with the smoking gun. 

“My Gawd, Jack!” gasped Handy Oliver. “You 
swore no one would pull a gun—an’ here you’ve 
Sailed him yourself! . , , You've double-crossed your 
19 28* 


THE BORDER LEGION 

self! An’ if I die for it I’ve got to tell you Red 
wasn’t lyin’ then!” 

Kells’s radiance fled, leaving him ghastly. He 
stared at Oliver. 

“You’ve double-crossed yourself an’ your pards,” 
went on Oliver, pathetically. “What’s your word 
amount to? Do you expect the gang to stand for 
this ?... There lays Red Pearce dead. An’ for what ? 
Jest once—relyin’ on your oath—he speaks out what 
might have showed you. An’ you kill him! ... If I 
knowed what he knowed I’d tell you now with thet 
gun in your hand! But I don’t know. Only I know 
he wasn’t lyin’. . . . Ask the girl! . . . An’ as for me, 
I reckon I’m through with you an’ your Legion. 
You’re done, Kells—your head’s gone—you’ve broke 
over thet slip of a woman!” 

Oliver spoke with a rude and impressive dignity. 
When he ended he strode out into the sunlight. 

Kells was shaken by this forceful speech, yet he 
was not in any sense a broken man. “Joan—you 
heard Pearce,” said he, passionately. “He lied 
about you. I had to kill him. He hinted— Oh, 
the low-lived dog! He could not know a good 
woman. He lied—and there he is—dead! I wouldn’t 
fetch him back for a hundred Legions!” 

“But it—it wasn’t—all—a lie,” said Joan, and her 
words came haltingly because a force stronger than 
her cunning made her speak. She had reached a 
point where she could not deceive Kells to save her 
life. 

“What!” he thundered. 

“Pearce told the truth—except that no one ever 
climbed in my window. That’s false. No one 
284 


THE BORDER LEGION 


could climb in. It’s too small. . . But I did whisper 
—to some one.” 

Kells had to moisten his lips to speak. ‘ ‘ Who ? ” 

“I’ll never tell you.” 

“Who?. . . I’ll kill him!” 

“No—no. I won’t tell. I won’t let you kill 
another man on my account.” 

“I’ll choke it out of you.” 

“You can’t. There’s no use to threaten me, or 
hurt me, either.” 

Kells seemed dazed. “Whisper! For hours! In 
the dark! . . . But, Joan, what for? Why such a 
risk?” 

Joan shook her head. 

“Were you just unhappy—lonesome? Did some 
young miner happen to see you there in daylight— 
then come at night? Wasn’t it only accident? 
Tell me.” 

“I won’t—and I won’t because I don’t want you 
to spill more blood.” 

“For my sake” he queried, with the old, mocking 
tone. Then he grew dark with the blood in his face, 
fierce with action of hands and body as he bent nearer 
her. “Maybe you like him too well to see him 
shot? . . . Did you—whisper often to this stranger?” 

Joan felt herself weakening. Kells was so power¬ 
ful in spirit and passion that she seemed unable to 
fight him. She strove to withhold her reply, but it 
burst forth, involuntarily. 

“Yes—often.” 

That roused more than anger and passion. Jeal¬ 
ousy flamed from him and it transformed him into a 
devil. 


THE BORDER LEGION 


3 ‘You held hands out of that window-—and 
kissed—iq the dark?” he cried, with working lips, 

Joan had thought of this so fearfully and in- 
tensely—she had battled so to fortify herself to 
keep it secret—that he had divined it, had read her 
mind. She could not control herself. The murder 
of Pearce had almost overwhelmed her. She had 
not the strength to bite her tongue. Suggestion 
alone would have drawn her then—and Kells’s pas« 
sionate force was hypnotic. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

He appeared to control a developing paroxysm of 
/age. 

“That settles you,” he declared, darkly. “But 
I’ll do one more decent thing by you. I’ll marry 
you.” Then he wheeled to his men. “Blicky, 
there’s a parson down in camp. Go on the run. 
Fetch him back if you have to push him with 
a gun.” 

Blicky darted through the door and his foot¬ 
steps thudded out of hearing. 

“You can’t force me to marry you,” said Joan, 
“I—I won’t open my lips.” 

“That’s your affair. I’ve no mind to coax you,* 9 
he replied, bitterly. “But if you don’t I’ll try 
Gulden’s way with a woman. ... You remember, 
Gulden’s way! A cave and a rope!” 

Joan’s legs gave out under her and she sank upon 
a pile of blankets. Then beyond Kells she saw 
Jim Cleve. With all that was left of her spirit she 
flashed him a warning—a meaning—a prayer not to 
do the deed she divined was his deadly intent. He 
caught it and obeyed. And he flashed back a 
286 


THE BORDER LEGION 


glance which meant that, desperate as her case waSp 
it could never be what Kells threatened. 

“Men, see me through this,” said Kells to the 
silent groupc “Then any deal you want—I’m on. 
Stay here or—sack the camp! Hold up the stage 
express with gold for Bannack! Anything for a big 
stake! Then the trail and the border.” 

He began pacing the floor. Budd and Smith 
strolled outside. Bate Wood fumbled in his pockets 
for pipe and tobacco. Cleve sat down at the table 
and leaned on his hands. No one took notice of the 
dead Pearce. Here was somber and terrible sign 
of the wildness of the border clan—that Kells 
could send out for a parson to marry him to a woman 
he hopelessly loved, there in the presence of murder 
and death, with Pearce’s distorted face upturned 
in stark and ghastly significance. 

It might have been a quarter of an hour, though 
to Joan it seemed an endless time, until foot¬ 
steps and voices outside announced the return of 
Blicky. 

He held by the arm a slight man whom he wag 
urging along with no gentle force. This stranger’s 
face presented as great a contrast to Blicky’s as 
could have been imagined. His apparel proclaimed 
his calling. There were consternation and bewilder¬ 
ment in his expression, but very little fear. 

“He was preachin’ down there in a tent,” said 
Blicky, “an 9 I jest waltzed him up without ex¬ 
plainin’.” 

“Sir, I want, to be married at once/ 9 declared 
Kells, peremptorily. 


287 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Certainly. I’m at your service,” replied the 
preacher. “But I deplore the—the manner in 
which Eve been approached.” 

“You’ll excuse haste,” rejoined the bandit. “I’ll 
pay you well.” Kells threw a small buckskin sack 
of gold-dust upon the table, and then he turned to 
Joan. “Come, Joan,” he said, in the tone that 
brooked neither resistance nor delay. 

It was at that moment that the preacher first 
noticed Joan. Was her costume accountable for his 
start? Joan had remembered his voice and she 
wondered if he would remember hers. Certainly 
Jim had called her Joan more than once on the night 
of the marriage. The preacher’s mild eyes grew 
keener. He glanced from Joan to Kells, and then at 
the other men, who had come in. Jim Cleve stood 
behind Jesse Smith’s broad person, and evidently 
the preacher did not see him. That curious gaze, 
however, next discovered the dead man on the floor. 
Then to the curiosity and anxiety upon the preach¬ 
er’s face was added horror. 

“A minister of God is needed here, but not 
in the capacity you name,” he said. “I’ll per¬ 
form no marriage ceremony in the presence of— 
murder.” 

“Mr. Preacher, you’ll marry me quick or you’ll 
go along with him,” replied Kells, deliberately. 

“I cannot be forced.” The preacher still main** 
tained some dignity, but he had grown pale. 

“7 can force you. Get ready now!. .. Joan, come 
here!” 

Kells spoke sternly, yet something of the old, 
self-mocking spirit was in his tone. His intelligence 
288 


THE BORDER LEGION 

was deriding the flesh and blood of him, the beast, the 
fool. It spoke that he would have his way and that 
the choice was fatal for him. 

Joan shook her head. In one stride Kells reached 
her and swung her spinning before him. The 
physical violence acted strangely upon Joan— 
roused her rage. 

“I wouldn’t marry you to save my life—even if I 
could /” she burst out. 

At her declaration the preacher gave a start that 
must have been suspicion or confirmation, or both 
He bent low to peer into the face of the dead Pearce. 
When he arose he was shaking his head. Evidently 
he had decided that Pearce was not the man to whom 
he had married Joan. 

“Please remove your mask,” he said to Joan. 

She did so, swiftly, without a tremor. The 
preacher peered into her face again, as he had upon 
the night he had married her to Jim. He faced 
Kells again. 

“I am beyond your threats,” he said, now with 
calmness. “I can’t marry you to a woman who 
already has a husband. . . . But I don’t see that 
husband here.” 

“You don’t see that husband here!” echoed the 
bewildered Kells. He stared with open mouth. 
“Say, have you got a screw loose?” 

The preacher, in his swift glance, had apparently 
not observed the half-hidden Cleve. Certainly it 
appeared now that he would have no attention for 
smy other than Kells. The bandit was a study. 
His astonishment was terrific and held him like a 
diam. Suddenly he lurched. 

289 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“What did you say?” he roared, his face flass^ 
ing. 

“I can’t marry you to a woman who already has 
a husband.” 

Swift as light the red flashed out of Kells’s faoe, 
“Did you ever see her before?” he asked. 

“Yes,” replied the preacher. 

* ‘ Where and when ? ’ ’ 

“Here—at the back of this cabin—a few nights 
ago.” 

It hurt Joan to look at Kells now, yet he seemed 
wonderful to behold. She felt as guilty as if she had 
really been false to him. Her heart labored high in 
her breast. This was the climax—the moment of 
catastrophe. Another word and Jim Cleve would 
be facing Kells. The blood pressure in Joan’s 
throat almost strangled her. 

“At the back of this cabin! ... At her window?” 

“Yes.” 

“What were you there for?” 

“In my capacity as minister. I was summoned 
to marry her.” 

“To marry her?” gasped Kells. 

“Yes. She is Joan Randle, from Hoadley, Idaho 0 
She is over eighteen. I understood she was detained 
here against her will. She loved an honest young 
miner of the camp. He brought me up here one 
night. And I married them.” 

* ‘ Y ou — married — them /” 

“Yes.” 

Kells was slow in assimilating the truth and his 
action corresponded with his mind. Slowly his 
hand moved toward his gun. He drew it, threw it 
290 


THE BORDER LEGION 


aloft. And then all the terrible evil of the man 
flamed forth. But as he deliberately drew down on 
the preacher Blicky leaped forward and knocked up 
the gun. Flash and report followed; the discharge 
went into the roof. Blicky grasped Kells’s arm and 
threw his weight upon it to keep it down. 

“I fetched thet parson here,” he yelled, “an’ you 
ain’t a-goin’ to kill him! . . . Help, Jesse! . . . He’s 
crazy! He’ll do it!” 

Jesse Smith ran to Blicky’s aid and tore the gun 
out of Kells’s hand. Jim Cleve grasped the preacher 
by the shoulders and, whirling him around, sent him 
flying out of the door. 

“Run for your life!” he shouted. 

Blicky and Jesse Smith were trying to hold the 
lunging Kells. 

“Jim you block the door,” called Jesse. “Bate, 
you grab any loose guns an’ knives. . . . Now, boss, 
rant an’ be damned!” 

They released Kells and backed away, leaving him 
the room. Joan’s limbs seemed unable to execute 
her will. 

“Joan! It’s true!” he exclaimed, with whistling 
breath. 

“Yes.” 

“Who?” he bellowed. 

“I’ll never tell.” 

He reached for her with hands like claws, as if he 
meant to tear her, rend her. Joan was helpless, 
weak, terrified. Those shaking, clutching hands 
reached for her throat and yet never closed round it. 
Kells wanted to kill her, but he could not. He 
loomed over her, dark, speechless, locked in his 
291 


THE BORDER LEGION 


paroxysm of rage. Perhaps then came a realization 
of ruin through her. He hated her because he 
loved her. He wanted to kill her because of that 
hate, yet he could riot harm her, even hurt her. 
And his soul seemed in conflict with two giants—the 
evil in him that was hate, and the love that was good. 
Suddenly he flung her aside. She stumbled over 
Pearce's body, almost falling, and staggered back to 
the wall. Kells had the center of the room to him* 
self. Like a mad steer in a corral he gazed about, 
stupidly seeking some way to escape. But the 
escape Kells longed for was from himself. Then 
either he let himself go or was unable longer to con¬ 
trol his rage. He began to plunge around. His 
actions were violent, random, half insane. He 
seemed to want to destroy himself and everything. 
But the weapons were guarded by his men and the 
room contained little he could smash. There was 
something magnificent in his fury, yet childish and 
absurd. Even under its influence and his abandon¬ 
ment he showed a consciousness of its futility. In a 
few moments the inside of the cabin was in disorder 
and Kells seemed a disheveled, sweating, panting 
wretch. The rapidity and violence of his action, 
coupled with his fury, soon exhausted him. He fell 
from plunging here and there to pacing the floor. 
And even the dignity of passion passed from him. 
He looked a hopeless, beaten, stricken man, conscious 
of defeat. 

Jesse Smith approached the bandit leader. “Jack, 
here’s your gun,” he said. “I only took it because 
you was out of your head. . . . An’ listen, boss. 
There’s a few of us left.” 


THE BORDER LEGION 


That was Smith’s expression of fidelity, and K 11s 
received it with a pallid, grateful smile. 

“Bate, you an’ Jim clean up this mess,” went on 
Smith. “An’, Blicky, come here an’ help me with 
Pearce. We’ll have to plant him.” 

The stir begun by the men was broken by a sharp 
exclamation from Cleve. 

“Kells, here comes Gulden—Beady Jones, Will¬ 
iams, Beard!” 

The bandit raised his head and paced back to 
where he could look out. 

Bate Wood made a violent and significant gesture. 
“Somethin’ wrong,” he said, hurriedly. “An’ 
it’s more ’n to do with Gul!. . . Look down the road. 
See thet gang. All excited an’ wavin’ hands an’ 
runnin’. But they’re goin’ down into camp.” 

Jesse Smith turned a gray face toward Kells. 
“Boss, there’s hell to pay! I’ve seen thet kind of 
excitement before.” 

Kells thrust the men aside and looked out. He 
seemed to draw upon a reserve strength, for he grew 
composed even while he gazed. “Jim, get in the 
other room,” he ordered, sharply. “Joan—you go, 
too. Keep still.” 

Joan hurried to comply. Jim entered after her 
and closed the door. Instinctively they clasped 
hands, drew close together. 

“Jim, what does it mean?” she whispered, fear¬ 
fully. “Gulden!” 

“He must be looking for me,” replied Jim. “But 
there’s more doing. Did you see that crowd down 
the road?” 

I couldn’t see out.” 

293 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“ Listen.” 

Heavy tramp of boots sounded without. Silently 
Joan led Jim to the crack between the boards 
through which she had spied upon the bandits. 
Jim peeped through, and Joan saw his hand go to his 
gun. Then she looked. 

Gulden was being crowded into the cabin by 
fierce, bulging-jawed men who meant some kind of 
dark business. The strangest thing about that 
entrance was its silence. In a moment they were 
inside, confronting Kells with his little group. 
Beard, Jones, Williams, former faithful allies of 
Kells, showed a malignant opposition. And the 
huge Gulden resembled an enraged gorilla. For an 
instant his great, pale, cavernous eyes glared. He 
had one hand under his coat and his position had a 
sinister suggestion. But Kells stood cool and sure. 
When Gulden moved Kells’s gun was leaping forth. 
But he withheld his fire, for Gulden had only a 
heavy round object wrapped in a handkerchief. 

“Look there!” he boomed, and he threw the object 
on the table. 

The dull, heavy, sodden thump had a familiar 
ring. Joan heard Jim gasp and his hand tightened 
spasmodically upon hers. 

Slowly the ends of the red scarf slid down to re¬ 
veal an irregularly round, glinting lump. When 
Joan recognized it her heart seemed to burst. 

“Jim Cleve’s nugget!” ejaculated Kells. ‘‘Where’d 
you get that?” 

Gulden leaned across the table, his massive jaw 
working. “I found it on the miner Creede,” replied 
the giant, stridently. 


294 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Then came a nervous shuffling of boots on the 
creaky boards. In the silence a low, dull murmur 
Df distant voices could be heard, strangely menacing* 
Kells stood transfixed, white as a sheet. 

‘‘On Creede!” 

“Yes.” 

“Where was his—his body?” 

“I left it out on the Bannack trail.” 

The bandit leader appeared mute. 

“Kells, I followed Creede out of camp last night ? 
fiercely declared Gulden. ... “I killed him! . . . I 
found this nugget on him!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


A PPARENTLY to Kells that nugget did not 
l accuse Jim Cleve of treachery. Not only did 
this possibility seem lost upon the bandit leader, 
but also the sinister intent of Gulden and his as¬ 
sociates. 

“Then Jim didn’t kill Creede!” cried Kells. 

A strange light flashed across his face. It fitted 
the note of gladness in his exclamation. How strange 
that in his amaze there should be relief instead of 
suspicion! Joan thought she understood Kells. He 
was glad that he had not yet made a murderer out of 
Cleve. 

Gulden appeared slow in rejoining. “I told you 
I got Creede,” he said. “And we want to know if 
this says to you what it says to us.” 

His huge, hairy hand tapped the nugget. Then 
Kells caught the implication. 

“What does it say to you?” he queried, coolly, 
and he eyed Gulden and then the grim men be¬ 
hind him. 

“Somebody in the gang is crooked. Somebody’s 
giving you the double-cross. We’ve known that for 
long. Jim Cleve goes out to kill Creede. He comes 
in with Creede’s gold-belt—and a lie! . . . We think. 
Cleve is the crooked one.” 

296 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“No! YouTe way off, Gulden,” replied Kells, 
earnestly. “That boy is absolutely square. He's 
lied to me about Creede. But I can excuse that. 
He lost his nerve. He’s only a youngster. To 
knife a man in his sleep—that was too much for 
Jim! . . . And I’m glad! I see it all now. Jim’s 
swapped his big nugget for Creede’s belt. And in the 
bargain he exacted that Creede hit the trail out of 
camp. You happened to see Creede and went after 
him yourself. . . . Well, I don’t see where you’ve any 
kick coming. For you’ve ten times the money in 
Cleve’s nugget that there was in a share of Creede’s 
gold.” 

“That’s not my kick,” declared Gulden. “What 
you say about Cleve may be true. But I don’t be¬ 
lieve it. And the gang is sore. Things have leaked 
out. We’re watched. We’re not welcome in the 
gambling-places any more. Last night I was not 
allowed to sit in the game at Belcher’s.” 

“You think Cleve has squealed?” queried Kells.' 

“Yes.” 

“I’ll bet you every ounce of dust I’ve got that 
you’re wrong,” declared Kells. “A straight, square 
bet against anything you want to put up!” 

Kells’s ringing voice was nothing if not convin¬ 
cing. 

“Appearances are against Cleve,” growled Gulden, 
dubiously. Always he had been swayed by the 
stronger mind of the leader. 

“Sure they are,” agreed Kells. 

“Then what do you base your confidence on?” 

“Just my knowledge of men. Jim Cleve wouldn’t 
squeal. . . . Gulden, did anybody tell you that?” 

297 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Yes,” replied Gulden, slowly. “Red Pearce.” 

“Pearce was a liar,” said Kells, bitterly. “I shot 
him for lying to me.” 

Gulden stared. His men muttered and gazed at 
one another and around the cabin. 

“Pearce told me you set Cleve to kill me,” sud¬ 
denly spoke up the giant. 

If he expected to surprise Kells he utterly failed. 

“That’s another and bigger lie,” replied the ban¬ 
dit leader, disgustedly. “Gulden, do you think my 
mind’s gone?” 

“Not quite,” replied Gulden, and he seemed as 
near a laugh as was possible for him. 

“Well, I’ve enough mind left not to set a boy to 
kill such a man as you.” 

Gulden might have been susceptible to flattery. 
He turned to his men. They, too, had felt Kells’s 
subtle influence. They were ready to veer round like 
weather-vanes. 

“Red Pearce has cashed, an’ he can’t talk for him¬ 
self,” said Beady Jones, as if answering to the un¬ 
spoken thought of all. 

“Men, between you and me, I had more queer 
notions about Pearce than Cleve,” announced Gul¬ 
den, gruffly. “But I never said so because I had no 
proof.” 

“Red shore was sore an’ strange lately,” added 
Chick Williams. “Me an’ him were pretty thick 
onct—but not lately.” 

The giant Gulden scratched his head and swore. 
Probably he had no sense of justice and was merely 
puzzled. 

“We’re wastin’ a lot of time,” put in Beard, 

3Q8 


THE BORDER LEGION 


anxiously. “Don’t fergit there’s somethin’ comin ? 
off down in camp, an’ we ain’t sure what.” 

“Bah! Haven’t we heard whispers of vigilantes 
for a week?” queried Gulden. 

Then some one of the men looked out of the door 
land suddenly whistled. 

“Who’s thet on a hoss?” 

Gulden’s gang crowded to the door. 

“Thet’s Handy Oliver.” 

“No!” 

“Shore is. I know him. But it ain’t his hoss„ 

. . . Say, he’s hurryin’.” 

Low exclamations of surprise and curiosity fol¬ 
lowed. Kells and his men looked attentively, but 
no one spoke. The clatter of hoofs on the stony road 
told of a horse swiftly approaching—pounding to a 
halt before the cabin. 

“Handy! . . . Air you chased? . . . What’s wrong?' 
» . . You shore look pale round the gills.” These and 
other remarks were flung out the door. 

“Where’s Kells? Let me in,” replied Oliver, 
hoarsely. 

The crowd jostled and split to admit the long, lean 
Oliver. He stalked straight toward Kells, till the 
table alone stood between them. He was gray of 
face, breathing hard, resolute and stern. 

“Kells, I throwed—you—down!” he said, with 
outstretched hand. It was a gesture of self-con¬ 
demnation and remorse. 

“What of that?” demanded Kells, with his head 
leaping like the strike of an eagle. 

“I’m takin’ it back!” 

Kells met the outstretched hand with his own and 

20 2QQ 


THE BORDER LEGION 


wrung it. “Handy, I never knew you to right¬ 
about-face. But I’m glad. . . . What’s changed you 
so quickly?” 

“ Vigilantes!' 1 

Kells’s animation and eagerness suddenly froze. 
“ Vigilantes /” he ground out. 

“No rumor, Kells, this time. I’ve sure some 
news. . . . Come close, all you fellows. You, Gulden, 
come an’ listen. Here’s where we git together 
closer ’n ever.” 

Gulden surged forward with his group. Handy 
Oliver was surrounded by pale, tight faces, dark- 
browed and hard-eyed. 

He gazed at them, preparing them for a startling 
revelation. “Men, of all the white-livered traitors 
as ever was Red Pearce was the worst!” he declared, 
hoarsely. 

No one moved or spoke. 

tl An' he was a vigilante /” 

A low, strange sound, almost a roar, breathed 
through the group. 

“Listen now an’ don’t interrupt. We ’ain’t got a 
lot of time. ... So never mind how I happened to 
find out about Pearce. It was all accident, an’ 
jest because I put two an’ two together. . . . Pearce 
was approached by one of this secret vigilante band, 
an’ he planned to sell the Border Legion outright. 
There was to be a big stake in it for him. He held 
off day after day, only tippin’ off some of the gang. 
There’s Dartt an’ Singleton an’ Frenchy an’ Texas 
all caught red-handed at jobs. Pearce put the 
vigilantes to watchin’ them jest to prove his claim. 
, . . Aw! I’ve got the proofs! Jest Wait. Listen 
300 


THE BORDER LEGION 


to me! ... You all never in your lives seen a snake 
like Red Pearce. An’ the job he had put up on us 
was grand. To-day he was to squeal on the whole 
gang. You know how he began on Kells—an’ how 
with his oily tongue he asked a guarantee of no gun¬ 
play. But he figgered Kells wrong for once. He 
accused Kells’s girl an’ got killed for his pains. 
Mebbe it was part of his plan to git the girl himself. 
Anyway, he had agreed to betray the Border Legion 
to-day. An’ if he hadn’t been killed by this time 
we’d all be tied up, ready for the noose! . . . Mebbe 
thet wasn’t a lucky shot of the boss’s. Men, I was 
the first to declare myself against Kells, an’ I’m 
here now to say thet I was a fool. So you’ve all 
been fools who’ve bucked against him. If this ain’t 
provin’ it, what can? 

“But I must hustle with my story. . . . They was 
havin’ a trial down at the big hall, an’ thet place was 
sure packed. No diggin’ gold to-day! . . . Think 
of what thet means for Alder Creek. I got inside 
where I could stand on a barrel an’ see. Dartt an’ 
Singleton an’ Frenchy an’ Texas was bein’ tried by 
a masked court. A man near me said two of them 
had been proved guilty. It didn’t take long to make 
out a case against Texas an’ Frenchy. Miners 
there recognized them an’ identified them. They 
was convicted an’ sentenced to be hung! . . . Then 
the offer was made to let them go free out of the 
border if they’d turn state’s evidence an’ give away 
the leader an’ men of the Border Legion. Thet was 
put up to each prisoner. Dartt he never answered 
at all. An’ Singleton told them to go to hell. An’ 
Texas he swore he was only a common an’ honest 
301 


THE BORDER LEGION 


road-agent, an* never heard of the Legion. But 
thet Frenchman showed a yellow streak. He might 
have taken the offer. But Texas cussed him tur- 
rible, an’ made him ashamed to talk. But if they 
git Frenchy away from Texas they’ll make him blab. 
He’s like a greaser. Then there was a delay. The 
big crowd of miners yelled for ropes. But the 
vigilantes are waitin’, an’ it’s my hunch they’re 
waitin’ for Pearce.” 

“So! And where do we stand?” cried Kells, clear 
and cold. 

“We’re not spotted yet, thet’s certain,” replied 
Oliver, “else them masked vigilantes would have 
been on the job before now. But it’s not sense to 
figger we can risk another day. ... I reckon it’s 
hit the trail back to Cabin Gulch.” 

“Gulden, what do you say?” queried Kells, 
sharply. 

“I’ll go or stay—whatever you want,” replied the 
giant. In this crisis he seemed to be glad to have 
Kells decide the issue. And his followers resembled 
sheep ready to plunge after the leader. 

But though Kells, by a strange stroke, had been 
made wholly master of the Legion, he did not show 
the old elation or radiance. Perhaps he saw more 
clearly than ever before. Still he was quick, de¬ 
cisive, strong, equal to the occasion. 

“Listen—all of you,” he said. “Our horses and 
outfits are hidden in a gulch several miles below 
camp. We’ve got to go that way. We can’t pack 
any grub or stuff from here. We’ll risk going through 
camp. Now leave here two or three at a time, and 
wait down there on the edge of the crowd for m& 
302 


THE BORDER LEGION 

When I come we’ll stick together. Then all do as I 
do.” 

Gulden put the nugget under his coat and strode 
out, accompanied by Budd and Jones. They hur¬ 
ried away. The others went in couples. Soon only 
Bate Wood and Handy Oliver were left with Kells. 

“Now you fellows go,” said Kells. “Be sure to 
round up the gang down there and wait for me.” 

When they had gone he called for Jim and Joan 
to come out. 

All this time Joan’s hand had been gripped in 
Jim’s, and Joan had been so absorbed that she had 
forgotten the fact. He released her and faced her, 
silent, pale. Then he went out. Joan swiftly 
followed. 

Kells was buckling on his spurs. “You heard?” 
he said, the moment he saw Jim’s face. 

“Yes,” replied Jim. 

“So much the better. We’ve got to rustle. . . . 
Joan, put on that long coat of Cleve’s. Take off 
your mask. . . . Jim, get what gold you have, and 
hurry. If we’re gone when you come back hurry 
down the road. I want you with me.” 

Cleve stalked out, and Joan ran into her room 
and put on the long coat. She had little time to 
choose what possessions she could take; and that 
choice fell upon the little saddle-bag, into which she 
hurriedly stuffed comb and brush and soap—all it 
would hold. Then she returned to the larger room. 

Kells had lifted a plank of the floor, and was now 
in the act of putting small buckskin sacks of gold into 
his pockets. They made his coat bulge at the sides. 
303 


THE BORDER LEGION 


"Joan, stick some meat and biscuits in your 
pockets,” he said. "I’d never get hungry with my 
pockets full of gold. But you might.” 

Joan rummaged around in Bate Wood’s rude cup¬ 
board. 

"These biscuits are as heavy as gold—and harder,” 
she said. 

Kells flashed a glance at her that held pride, 
admiration, and sadness. "You are the gamest girl 
I ever knew! I wish I’d— But that’s too late!. . . 
Joan, if anything happens to me stick close to 
Cleve. I believe you can trust him. Come on 
now.” 

Then he strode out of the cabin. Joan had 
almost to run to keep up with him. There were no 
other men now in sight. She knew that Jim would 
follow soon, because his gold-dust was hidden in the 
cavern back of her room, and he would not need 
much time to get it. Nevertheless, she anxiously 
looked back. She and Kells had gone perhaps a 
couple of hundred yards before Jim appeared, and 
then he came on the run. At a point about opposite 
the first tents he joined Kells. 

"Jim, how about guns?” asked the bandit. 

"I’ve got two,” replied Cleve. 

"Good! There’s no telling— Jim, I’m afraid of 
the gang. They’re crazy. What do you think?” 

"I don’t know. It’s a hard proposition.” 

"We’ll get away, all right. Don’t worry about 
that. But the gang will never come together again.” 
This singular man spoke with melancholy. "Slow 
up a little now,” he added. "We don’t want to 
attract attention. . . . But where is there any one to 
304 


THE BORDER LEGION 


see us? . . . Jim, did I have you figured right about 
the Creede job?” 

“You sure did. I just lost my nerve.” 

“Well, no matter.” 

Then Kells appeared to forget that. He stalked 
on with keen glances searching everywhere, until 
suddenly, when he saw round a bend of the road, 
he halted with grating teeth. That road was 
empty all the way to the other end of camp, 
but there surged a dark mob of men. Kells stalked 
forward again. The Last Nugget appeared like 
an empty barn. How vacant and significant the 
whole center of camp! Kells did not speak an¬ 
other word. 

Joan hurried on between Kells and Cleve. She 
was trying to fortify herself to meet what lay at the 
end of the road. A strange, hoarse roar of men and 
an upflinging of arms made her shudder. She kept 
her eyes lowered and clung to the arms of her 
companions. 

Finally they halted. She felt the crowd before she 
saw it. A motley assemblage with what seemed 
craned necks and ihtent backs! They were all 
looking forward and upward. But she forced her 
glance down. 

Kells stood still. Jim’s grip was hard upon her 
arm. Presently men grouped round Kells. She 
heard whispers. They began to walk slowly, and 
she was pushed and led along. More men joined 
the group. Soon she and Kells and Jim were 
hemmed in a circle. Then she saw the huge form 
of Gulden, the towering Oliver, and Smith and 
Blicky, Beard, Jones, Williams, Budd, and others. 

305 


THE BORDER LEGION 


The circle they formed appeared to be only one of 
many groups, all moving, whispering, facing from 
her. Suddenly a sound like the roar of a wave 
agitated that mass of men. It was harsh, piercing, 
unnatural, yet it had a note of wild exultation. Then 
came the stamp and surge, and then the upflinging 
of arms, and then the abrupt, strange silence, broken 
only by a hiss or an escaping breath, like a sob. 
Beyond all Joan’s power to resist was a deep, 
primitive desire to look. 

There over the heads of the mob—from the bench 
of the slope—rose grotesque structures of new- 
hewn lumber. On a platform stood black, motion¬ 
less men in awful contrast with a dangling object 
that doubled up and curled upon itself in terrible 
convulsions. It lengthened while it swayed; it 
slowed its action while it stretched. It took on the 
form of a man. He swung by a rope round his 
neck. His head hung back. His hands beat. A 
long tremor shook the body; then it was still, and 
swayed to and fro, a dark, limp thing. 

Joan’s gaze was riveted in horror. A dim, red 
haze made her vision imperfect. There was a 
sickening riot within her. 

There were masked men all around the platform 
—a solid phalanx of them on the slope above. 
They were heavily armed. Other masked men stood 
on the platform. They seemed rigid figures—stiff, 
jerky when they moved. How different from the 
two forms swaying below! 

The structure was a rude scaffold and the vigi¬ 
lantes had already hanged two bandits. 

Two others with hands bound behind their backs 
306 


THE BORDER LEGION 

stood farther along the platform under guard. 
Before each dangled a noose. 

Joan recognized Texas and Frenchy. And on the 
instant the great crowd let out a hard breath that 
ended in silence. 

The masked leader of the vigilantes was address¬ 
ing Texas: “We’ll spare your life if you confess. 
Who’s the head of this Border Legion?” 

‘ ‘ Shore it’s Red Pearce! . . . Haw! Haw! Haw!” 

“We’ll give you one more chance,” came the curt 
reply. 

Texas appeared to become serious and somber. 
“I swear to God it’s Pearce!” he declared. 

“A lie won’t save you. Come, the truth! We 
think we know, but we want proof! Hurry!” 

“You can go where it’s hot!” responded Texas. 

The leader moved his hand and two other masked 
men stepped forward. 

“Have you any message to send any one—any¬ 
thing to say?” he asked. 

“Nope.” 

“Have you any request to make?” 

“Hang thet Frenchman before me! I want to 
see him kick.” 

Nothing more was said. The two men adjusted 
the noose round the doomed man’s neck. Texas 
refused the black cap. And he did not wait for the 
drop to be sprung. He walked off the platform 
into space as Joan closed her eyes. 

Again that strange, full, angry, and unnatural roar 
waved through the throng of watchers. It was 
terrible to hear. Joan felt the violent action of that 
crowd, although the men close round her were immov- 

307 


THE BORDER LEGION 


able as stones. She imagined she could never open 
her eyes to see Texas hanging there. Yet she did— 
and something about his form told her that he had 
died instantly. He had been brave and loyal even in 
dishonor. He had more than once spoken a kind 
word to her. Who could tell what had made him an 
outcast? She breathed a prayer for his soul. 

The vigilantes were bolstering up the craven 
Frenchy. He could not stand alone. They put the 
rope round his neck and lifted him off the platform— 
then let him down. He screamed in his terror. 
They cut short his cries by lifting him again. This 
time they held him up several seconds. His face 
turned black. His eyes bulged. His breast heaved. 
His legs worked with the regularity of a jumping* 
jack. They let him down and loosened the noose 
They were merely torturing him to wring a confession 
from him. He had been choked severely and needed 
a moment to recover. When he did it was to shrink 
back in abject terror from that loop of rope dangling 
before his eyes. 

The vigilante leader shook the noose in his face 
and pointed to the swaying forms of the dead 
bandits. 

Frenchy frothed at the mouth as he shrieked out 
words in his native tongue, but any miner there 
could have translated their meaning. 

The crowd heaved forward, as if with one step, 
then stood in a strained silence. 

“Talk English!” ordered the vigilante. 

“I’ll tell! I’ll tell!” 

Joan became aware of a singular tremor in Kells’s 
arm, which she still clasped. Suddenly it jerked. 

308 


THE BORDER LEGION 


She caught a gleam of blue. Then the bellow of a 
gun almost split her ears. Powder burned her 
cheek. She saw Frenchy double up and collapse on 
the platform. 

For an instant there was a silence in which every 
man seemed petrified. Then burst forth a hoarse 
uproar and the stamp of many boots. All in another 
instant pandemonium broke out. The huge crowd 
split in every direction. Joan felt Cleve’s strong 
arm around her—felt herself borne on a resistless 
tide of yelling, stamping, wrestling men. She had 
a glimpse of Kells’s dark face drawing away from 
her; another of Gulden’s giant form in Herculean 
action, tossing men aside like ninepins; another of 
weapons aloft. Savage, wild-eyed men fought to 
get into the circle whence that shot had come. 
They broke into it, but did not know then whom 
to attack or what to do. And the rushing of the 
frenzied miners all around soon disintegrated 
Kells’s band and bore its several groups in every 
direction. There was not another shot fired. 

Joan was dragged and crushed in the m£lee. 
Not for rods did her feet touch the ground. But 
in the clouds of dust and confusion of struggling 
forms she knew Jim still held her, and she clasped 
him with all her strength. Presently her feet 
touched the earth; she was not jostled and pressed; 
then she felt free to walk; and with Jim urging her 
they climbed a rock-strewn slope till a cabin im¬ 
peded further progress. But they had escaped the 
stream. 

Below was a strange sight. A scaffold shrouded 
In dust-clouds; a band of bewildered vigilantes with 
309 


THE BORDER LEGION 


weapons drawn, waiting for they knew not what c » 
three swinging, ghastly forms and a dead man on the 
platform; and all below, a horde of men trying to 
escape from one another. That shot of Kells’s had 
precipitated a rush. No miner knew who the 
vigilantes were nor the members of the Border 
Legion. Every man there expected a bloody battle 
—distrusted the man next to him—and had given 
way to panic. The vigilantes had tried to crowd 
together for defense and all the others had tried to 
escape. It was a wild scene, born of wild justice 
and blood at fever-heat, the climax of a disordered 
time where gold and violence reigned supreme. It 
could only happen once, but it was terrible while it 
lasted. It showed the craven in men; it proved the 
baneful influence of gold; it brought, in its fruition, 
the destiny of Alder Creek Camp. For it must have 
been that the really brave and honest men in vast 
majority retraced their steps while the vicious kept 
running. So it seemed to Joan. 

She huddled against Jim there in the shadow of 
the cabin wall, and not for long did either speak. 
They watched and listened. The streams of miners 
turned back toward the space round the scaffold 
where the vigilantes stood grouped, and there rose 
a subdued roar of excited voices. Many small 
groups of men conversed together, until the vigilante 
leader brought all to attention by addressing the 
populace in general. Joan could not hear what he 
said and had no wish to hear. 

“Joan, it all happened so quickly, didn’t it?’* 
whispered Jim, shaking his head as if he was not 
convinced of reality. 


310 


THE BORDER LEGION 


**Wasn’t he—terrible!” whispered Joan in reply. 

“He! Who?” 

“Kells.” In her mind the bandit leader domi¬ 
nated all that wild scene. 

“Terrible, if you like. But I’d say great! . . . 
The nerve of him! In the face of a hundred vigi¬ 
lantes and thousands of miners! But he knew what 
that shot would do.” 

“Never! He never thought of that,” declared 
Joan, earnestly. “I felt him tremble. I had a 
glimpse of his face. . . . Oh!. . . First in his mind was 
his downfall, and, second, the treachery of Frenchy. 
I think that shot showed Kells as utterly desperate, 
but weak. He couldn’t have helped it—if that had 
been the last bullet in his gun.” 

Jim Cleve looked strangely at Joan, as if her 
eloquence was both persuasive and incomprehen¬ 
sible. 

“Well, that was a lucky shot for us—and him, 
too.” 

“Do you think he got away?” she asked, eagerly. 

“Sure. They all got away. Wasn’t that about 
the maddest crowd you ever saw?” 

“No wonder. In a second every man there feared 
the man next to him would shoot. That showed the 
oower of Kells’s Border Legion. If his men had 
been faithful and obedient he never would have 
fallen.” 

“Joan! You speak as if you regret it!” 

“Oh, I am ashamed,” replied Joan. “I don’t 
mean that. I don’t know what I do mean. But 
still I’m sorry for Kells. I suffered so much. . . . 
Those long, long hours of suspense. . . . And his 

311 


THE BORDER LEGION 

fortunes seemed my fortunes—my very life—and 
yours, too, Jim.” 

“I think I understand, dear,” said Jim, soberly. 

“Jim, what ’ll we do now? Isn’t it strange to 
feel free?” 

“I feel as queer as you. Let me think,” replied 
Jim. 

They huddled there in comparative seclusion for 
a long time after that. Joan tried to think of plans, 
but her mind seemed unproductive. She felt half 
dazed. Jim, too, appeared to be laboring under the 
same kind of burden. Moreover, responsibility had 
been added to his. 

The afternoon waned till the sun tipped the high 
range in the west. The excitement of the mining 
populace gradually wore away, and toward sunset 
strings of men filed up the road and across the open. 
The masked vigilantes disappeared, and presently 
only a quiet and curious crowd was left round the 
grim scaffold and its dark, swinging forms. Joan’s 
one glance showed that the vigilantes had swung 
Frenchy’s dead body in the noose he would have 
escaped by treachery. They had hanged him dead. 
What a horrible proof of the temper of these new¬ 
born vigilantes! They had left the bandits swing¬ 
ing. What sight was so appalling as these limp, 
dark, swaying forms? Dead men on the ground had 
a dignity—at least the dignity of death. And death 
sometimes had a majesty. But here both life and 
death had been robbed, and there was only horror. 
Joan felt that all her life she would be haunted. 

“Joan, we’ve got to leave Alder Creek,” declared 
Cleve, finally. He rose to his feet. The wo^ds 
312 


THE BORDER LEGION 


seemed to have given him decision. “At first I 
thought every bandit in the gang would run as far as 
he could from here. But—you can’t tell what these 
wild men will do. Gulden, for instance! Common 
sense ought to make them hide for a spell. Still, 
no matter what’s what, we must leave. . . . Now, how 
to go?” 

“Let’s walk. If we buy horses or wait for the 
^tage we’ll have to see men here—and I’m afraid—” 

“But, Joan, there’ll be bandits along the road sure. 
And the trails, wherever they are, would be less safe.” 

“Let’s travel by night and rest by day.” 

“That won’t do, with so far to go and no pack.” 

“Then part of the way.” 

“No. We’d better take the stage for Bannack. 
If it starts at all it ’ll be under armed guard. The 
only thing is—will it leave soon? . . . Come, Joan, 
we’ll go down into camp.” 

Dusk had fallen and lights had begun to accen¬ 
tuate the shadows. Joan kept close beside Jim, 
down the slope, and into the road. She felt like a 
guilty thing and every passing man or low-conversing 
group frightened her. Still she could not help but 
see that no one noticed her or Jim, and she began 
to gather courage. Jim also acquired confidence. 
The growing darkness seemed a protection. The 
farther up the street they passed, the more men they 
met. Again the saloons were in full blast. Alder 
Creek had returned to the free, careless tenor of its 
way. A few doors this side of the Last Nugget was 
the office of the stage and express company. It was 
a wide tent with the front canvas cut out and a shelf- 
counter across the opening. There was a dim, yeh 
3i3 


THE BORDER LEGION 


low lamplight. Half a dozen men lounged in front, 
and inside were several more, two of whom appeared 
to be armed guards. Jim addressed no one in 
particular. 

“When does the next stage leave for Bannack?” 

A man looked up sharply from the papers that 
littered a table before him. “It leaves when we 
start it,” he replied, curtly. 

“Well, when will that be?” 

“What’s that to you?” he replied, with a question 
still more curt 

“I want to buy seats for two.” 

“That’s different. Come in and let’s look you 
over. . . . Hello! it’s young Cleve. I didn’t recognize 
you. Excuse me. We’re a little particular these 
days.” 

The man’s face lighted. Evidently he knew Jim 
and thought well of him. This reassured Joan and 
stilled the furious beating of her heart. She saw 
Jim hand over a sack of gold, from which the agent 
took the amount due for the passage. Then he re¬ 
turned the sack and whispered something in Jim’s 
ear. Jim rejoined her and led her away, pressing 
her arm close to his side. 

“It’s all right,” he whispered, excitedly. “Stage 
leaves just before daylight. It used to leave in the 
middle of the forenoon. But they want a good start 
to-morrow.” 

“They think it might be held up?” 

“He didn’t say so. But there’s every reason to 
suspect that. . . . Joan, I sure hope it won’t. Me 
with all this gold. Why, I feel as if I weighed a 
thousand pounds.” 

3H 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“What ’ll we do now?” she inquired. 

Jim halted in the middle of the road. It was 
quite dark now. The lights of the camp were 
flaring; men were passing to and fro; the loose 
boards on the walks rattled to their tread; the 
saloons had begun to hum; and there was a discor¬ 
dant blast from the Last Nugget. 

“That’s it—what’ll we do?” he asked in per- 
plexity. 

Joan had no idea to advance, but with the lessen¬ 
ing of her fear and the gradual clearing of her mind 
*he felt that she would not much longer be witless. 

“We’ve got to eat and get some rest,” said Jim, 
sensibly. 

“I’ll try to eat—but I don’t think I’ll be able to 
sleep to-night,” replied Joan. 

Jim took her to a place kept by a Mexican. It 
appeared to consist of two tents, with opening in 
front and door between. The table was a plank 
jesting upon two barrels, and another plank, resting 
upon kegs, served as a seat. There was a smoking 
lamp that flickered. The Mexican’s tableware was 
of a crudeness befitting his house, but it was clean 
and he could cook—two facts that Joan appreciated 
after her long experience of Bate Wood. She and 
Jim were the only customers of the Mexican, who 
spoke English rather well and was friendly. Evi¬ 
dently it pleased him to see the meal enjoyed. Both 
the food and the friendliness had good effect upon 
Jim Cleve. He ceased to listen all the time and to 
glance furtively out at every footstep. 

“Joan, I guess it ’ll turn out all right,” he said, 
clasping her hand as it rested upon the table* 
31 3*5 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Suddenly he looked bright-eyed and shy. He 
leaned toward her. “Do you remember—we are 
married?” he whispered. 

Joan was startled. “Of course,” she replied 
hastily. But had she forgotten ? 

“You’re my wife.” 

Joan looked at him and felt her nerves begin to 
tingle. A soft, warm wave stole over her. 

Like a boy he laughed. “This was our first meal 
together—on our honeymoon! ” 

“Jim!” The blood burned in Joan’s face. 

“There you sit—you beautiful ... But you’re not 
a girl now. You’re Dandy Dale.” 

“Don’t call me that!” exclaimed Joan. 

“But I shall—always. We’ll keep that bandit 
suit always. You can dress up sometimes to show 
off—to make me remember—to scare the—the 
kids—” 

“Jim Cleve!” 

“Oh, Joan, I’m afraid to be happy. But I can’t 
help it. We’re going to get away. You belong to 
me. And I’ve sacks and sacks of gold-dust. Lord! 
I’ve no idea how much! But you can never spend 
all the money. Isn’t it just like a dream?” 

Joan smiled through tears, and failed trying to 
look severe. * 

“Get me and the gold away—safe—before you 
crow,” she said. 

That sobered him. He led her out again into the 
dark street with its dark forms crossing to and fro 
before the lights. 

“It’s a long time before morning. Where can I 
take you—so you can sleep a little ?” he mutteredo 
316 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“Find a place where we can sit down and wait,” 
she suggested. 

“ No. ” He pondered a moment. ‘ ‘ I guess there’s 
no risk.” 

Then he led her up the street and through that end 
of camp out upon the rough, open slope. They 
began to climb. The stars were bright, but even 
so Joan stumbled often over the stones. She won¬ 
dered how Jim could get along so well in the dark 
and she clung to his arm. They did not speak often, 
and then only in whispers. Jim halted occasionally 
to listen or to look up at the bold, black bluff for 
his bearings. Presently he led her among broken 
fragments of cliff, and half carried her over rougher 
ground, into a kind of shadowy pocket or niche. 

“Here’s where I slept,” he whispered. 

He wrapped a blanket round her, and then they 
sat down against the rock, and she leaned upon his 
shoulder. 

“I have your coat and the blanket, too,” she 
said. “Won’t you be cold?” 

He laughed. “Now don’t talk any more. You’re 
white and fagged-out. You need to rest—to sleep.” 

‘ ‘ Sleep ? How impossible! ’ ’ she murmured. 

“Why, your eyes are half shut now. . . . Anyway, 
I’ll not talk to you. I want to think.” 

“Jim! . . . kiss me—good night,” she whispered. 

He bent over rather violently, she imagined. His 
head blotted out the light of the stars. He held her 
tightly for a moment. She felt him shake. Then 
he kissed her on the cheek and abruptly drew away. 
How strange he seemed! 

For that matter, everything was strange. She had 
317 


THE BORDER LEGION 


never seen the stars so bright, so full of power, so 
close. All about her the shadows gathered protect* 
ingly, to hide her and Jim. The silence spokc c 
She saw Jim’s face in the starlight and it seemed 
so keen, so listening, so thoughtful, so beautiful. 
He would sit there all night, wide-eyed and alert, 
guarding her, waiting for the gray of dawn. How 
he had changed! And she was his wife! But that 
seemed only a dream. It needed daylight and sight 
of her ring to make that real. 

A warmth and languor stole over her; she relaxed 
comfortably; after all, she would sleep. But why 
did that intangible dread hang on to her soul? 
The night was so still and clear and perfect—-a 
radiant white night of stars—and Jim was there, 
holding her—and to-morrow they would ride away. 
That might be, but dark, dangling shapes haunted 
her, back in her mind, and there, too, loomed 
Kells. Where was he now? Gone—gone on his, 
bloody trail with his broken fortunes and his des¬ 
perate bitterness! He had lost her. The lunge of 
that wild mob had parted them. A throb of pain 
and shame went through her, for she was sorry. 
She could not understand why, unless it was because 
she had possessed some strange power to instil or 
bring up good in him. No woman could have been 
proof against that. It was monstrous to know that 
she had power to turn him from an evil life, yet she 
could not do it. It was more than monstrous to 
realize that he had gone on spilling blood and would 
continue to go on when she could have prevented 
It—could have saved many poor miners who per¬ 
haps had wives or sweethearts somewhere Yet 
318 


THE BORDER LEGION 

there was no help for it. She loved Jim Cleve 
She might have sacrificed herself, but she would not 
sacrifice him for all the bandits and miners on the 
border. 

Joan felt that she would always be haunted and 
would always suffer that pang for Kells. She 
would never lie down in the peace and quiet of her 
home, wherever that might be, without picturing 
Kells, dark and forbidding and burdened, pacing 
some lonely cabin or riding a lonely trail or lying 
with his brooding face upturned to the lonely stars. 
Sooner or later he would meet his doom. It was 
inevitable. She pictured over that sinister scene of 
the dangling forms; but no—Kells would never end 
that way. Terrible as he was, he had not been 
oom to be hanged. He might be murdered in his 
defcp, 6y one of that band of traitors who were 
traitors because in the nature of evil they had to be. 
But more likely some gambling-hell, with gold and 
life at stake, would see his last fight. These bandits 
stole gold and gambled among themselves and fought. 
And that fight which finished Kells must necessarily 
be a terrible one. She seemed to see into a lonely 
cabin where a log fire burned low and lamps flickered 
and blue smoke floated in veils and men lay prone 
on the floor—Kells, stark and bloody, and the giant 
Gulden, dead at last and more terrible in death, 
and on the rude table bags of gold and dull, shining 
heaps of gold, and scattered on the floor, like streams 
of sand and useless as sand, dust of gold—the 
Destrover 


CHAPTER XVIII 


LL Joan’s fancies and dreams faded into ob- 



** scurity, and when she was aroused it seemed she 
had scarcely closed her eyes. But there was the gray 
gloom of dawn. Jim was shaking her gently. 

“No, you weren’t sleepy—it’s just a mistake,” he 
said, helping her to arise. “Now we’ll get out of 
here.” 

They threaded a careful way out of the rocks, then 
hurried down the slope. In the grayness Joan saw 
the dark shape of a cabin and it resembled the one 
Kells had built. It disappeared. Presently when 
Jim led her into a road she felt sure that this cabin 
had been the one where she had been a prisoner for 
so long. They hurried down the road and entered 
the camp. There were no lights. The tents and 
cabins looked strange and gloomy. The road was 
empty. Not a sound broke the stillness. At the 
bend Joan saw a stage-coach and horses looming 
up in what seemed gray distance. Jim hurried her 
on. 

They reached the stage. The horses w^ere restive 
The driver was on the seat, whip and reins in hand. 
Two men sat beside him with rifles across their knees. 
The door of the coach hung open. There were men 
inside, one of whom had his head out of the window. 


THE BORDER LEGION 


The barrel of a rifle protruded near him. He was 
talking in a low voice to a man apparently busy at 
the traces. 

“Hello, Cleve! You’re late,” said another man, 
evidently the agent. “Climb aboard. When ’ll you 
be back?” 

“I hardly know,” replied Cleve, with hesitation. 

“All right. Good luck to you.” He closed the 
coach door after Joan and Jim. “Let ’em go, Bill.” 

The stage started with a jerk. To Joan what an 
unearthly creak and rumble it made, disturbing the 
silent dawn! Jim squeezed her hand with joy. 
They were on the way! 

Joan and Jim had a seat to themselves. Opposite 
sat three men— the guard with his head half out of 
the window, a bearded miner who appeared stolid 
or drowsy, and a young man who did not look rough 
and robust enough for a prospector. Neither of the 
three paid any particular attention to Joan and Jim. 

The road had a decided slope down-hill, and Bill, 
the driver, had the four horses on a trot. The 
rickety old stage appeared to be rattling to pieces. 
It lurched and swayed, and sometimes jolted over 
rocks and roots. Joan was hard put to it to keep 
from being bumped off the seat. She held to a 
brace on one side and to Jim on the other. And 
when the stage rolled down into the creek and 
thumped over boulders Joan made sure that every 
bone in her body would be broken. This crossing 
marked the mouth of the gulch, and on the other 
side the road was smooth. 

“We’re going the way we came,” whispered Jim 
in her ear. 


321 


THE BORDER LEGION 

This was surprising, for Joan had been sure tnat 
Bannack lay in the opposite direction. Certainly 
this fact was not reassuring to her. Perhaps the 
road turned soon. 

Meanwhile the light brightened, the day broke, 
and the sun reddened the valley. Then it was as 
light inside the coach as outside. Joan might have 
spared herself concern as to her fellow-passengers. 
The only one who noticed her was the young man, 
and he, after a stare and a half-smile, lapsed into 
abstraction. He looked troubled, and there was 
about him no evidence of prosperity. Jim held her 
hand under a fold of the long coat, and occasionally 
he spoke of something or other outside that caught 
his eye. And the stage rolled on rapidly, seemingly 
in pursuit of the steady roar of hoofs. 

Joan imagined she recognized the brushy ravine 
out of which Jesse Smith had led that day when 
Kells’s party came upon the new road. She believed 
Jim thought so, too, for he gripped her hand unusu¬ 
ally hard. Beyond that point Joan began to 
breathe more easily. There seemed no valid reason 
now why every mile should not separate them farther 
from the bandits, and she experienced relief. 

Then the time did not drag so. She wanted to 
talk to Jim, yet did not, because of the other pas¬ 
sengers. Jim himself appeared influenced by their 
absorption in themselves. Besides, the keen, cease¬ 
less vigilance of the guard was not without its 
quieting effect. Danger lurked ahead in the bends 
of that road. Joan remembered hearing Kells say 
that the Bannack stage had never been properly 
help up by road-agents, but that when he got ready 
322 


THE BORDER LEGION 


for the job it would be done right. Riding grew to 
be monotonous and tiresome. With the warmth 
of the sun came the dust and flies, and all these 
bothered Joan. She did not have her usual calm¬ 
ness, and as the miles steadily passed her nervous¬ 
ness increased. 

The road left the valley and climbed between 
foot-hills and wound into rockier country. Every 
dark gulch brought to Joan a trembling, breath¬ 
less spell. What places for ambush! But the 
stage bowled on. 

At last her apprehensions wore out and she per¬ 
mitted herself the luxury of relaxing, of leaning back 
and closing her eyes. She was tired, drowsy, hot. 
There did not seem to be a breath of air. 

Suddenly Joan’s ears burst to an infernal crash of 
guns. She felt the whip and sting of splinters sent 
flying by bullets. Harsh yells followed, then the 
scream of a horse in agony, the stage lurching and 
flipping to a halt, and thunder of heavy guns over¬ 
head. 

Jim yelled at her—threw her down on the seat. 
She felt the body of the guard sink against hei 
knees. Then she seemed to feel, to hear through an 
icy, sickening terror. 

A scattering volley silenced the guns above. 
Then came the pound of hoofs, the snort of frightened 
horses. 

“Jesse Smith! Stop!” called Jim, piercingly. 

“Hold on thar, Beady!” replied a hoarse voice= 
“Damn if it ain’t Jim Cleve!” 

“Ho, Gul!” yelled another voice, and Joan recog« 
nized it as Blicky’s. 


323 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Then Jim lifted her head, drew her up. He was 
white with fear. 

‘ ‘ Dear—are—you—hurt ?” 

“No. I’m only—scared,” she replied. 

Joan looked out to see bandits on foot, guns in 
hand, and others mounted, all gathering near the 
coach. Jim opened the door, and, stepping out, bade 
her follow. Joan had to climb over the dead guard. 
The miner and the young man huddled down on their 
seat. 

“If it ain’t Jim an’ Kells’s girl—Dandy Dale!” 
ejaculated Smith. “Fellers, this means somethin’. 
. . . Say, youngster, hope you ain’t hurt—or the 
girl?” 

“No. But that’s not your fault,” replied Cleve. 
“Why did you want to plug the coach full of lead?” 

“This beats me,” said Smith. “Kells sent you 
out in the stage! But when he gave us the job 
of holdin’ it up he didn’t tell us you’d be in there. . . . 
When an’ where’d you leave him?” 

“Sometime last night—in camp—near our cabin, w 
replied Jim, quick as a flash. Manifestly he saw 
his opportunity. “He left Dandy Dale with me. 
Told us to take the stage this morning. I expected 
him to be in it or to meet us.” 

“Didn’t you have no orders?” 

“None, except to take care of the girl till he came. 
But he did tell me he’d have more to say.” 

Smith gazed blankly from Cleve to Blicky, and 
then at Gulden, who came slowly forward, his hair 
ruffed, his gun held low. Joan followed the glance 
of his great gray eyes, and she saw the stage-driver 
hanging dead over his seat, and the guards lying back 
324 


THE BORDER LEGION 

of him. The off-side horse of the leaders lay dead 
in his traces, with his mate nosing at him. 

“Who’s in there?’’ boomed Gulden, and he thrust 
hand and gun in at the stage door. “Come out!” 

The young man stumbled out, hands above his 
head, pallid and shaking, so weak he could scarcely 
stand. 

Gulden prodded the bearded miner. “Come out 
here, you!” 

The man appeared to be hunched forward in a 
heap. 

‘ ‘ Guess he’s plugged, ’’ said Smith. “ But he ’ain’t 
cashed. Hear him breathe? . . . Heaves like a sick 
hoss.” 

Gulden reached with brawny arm and with one 
pull he dragged the miner off the seat and out into 
the road, where he flopped with a groan. There 
was blood on his neck and hands. Gulden bent over 
him, tore at his clothes, tore harder at something, 
and then, with a swing, he held aloft a broad, black 
belt, sagging heavy with gold. 

“Hah!” he boomed. It was just an exclamation, 
horrible to hear, but it did not express satisfaction 
or exultation. He handed the gold-belt to the 
grinning Budd, and turned to the young man. 

“Got any gold?” 

“No. I—I wasn’t a miner,” replied the youth, 
huskily. 

Gulden felt for a gold-belt, then slapped at his 
pockets. “Turn round!” ordered the giant. 

“Aw, Gul, let him go!” remonstrated Jesse Smith. 

Blicky laid a restraining hand upon Gulden’s broad 
shoulder. 


32S 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Turn round!” repeated Gulden, without the 
slightest sign of noticing his colleagues. 

But the youth understood and he turned a ghastly,- 
livid hue. 

4 ‘For God’s sake—don’t murder me!” he gasped. 
“I had—nothing—no gold—no gun!” 

Gulden spun him round like a top and pushed him 
forward. They went half a dozen paces, then the 
youth staggered, and, turning, he fell on his knees. 

“Don’t—kill—me!” he entreated. 

Joan, seeing Jim Cleve stiffen and crouch, thought 
of him even in that horrible moment; and she 
gripped his arm with all her might. They must 
endure. 

The other bandits muttered, but none moved a 
hand. 

Gulden thrust out the big gun. His hair bristled 
on his head, and his huge frame seemed instinct 
with strange vibration, like some object of tremen¬ 
dous weight about to plunge into resistless momen¬ 
tum. 

Even the stricken youth saw his doom. “Let—» 
me—pray!” he begged. 

Joan did not faint, but a merciful unclamping of 
muscle-bound rigidity closed her eyes. 

“Gul!” yelled Blicky, with passion. “I ain’t 
a-goin’ to let you kill this kid! There’s no sense in it. 
We’re spotted back in Alder Creek. . . . Run, kid! 
Run!” 

Then Joan opened her eyes to see the surly Gul¬ 
den’s arm held by Blicky, and the youth running 
blindly down the road. Joan’s relief and joy were 
tremendous. But still she answered to the realizing 
326 


THE BORDER LEGION 


shock of what Gulden had meant to do. She 
leaned against Cleve, all within and without a 
whirling darkness of fire. The border wildness 
claimed her then. She had the spirit, though not 
the strength, to fight. She needed the sight and 
sound of other things to restore her equilibrium. 
She would have welcomed another shock, an injury. 
And then she was looking down upon the gasping 
miner. He was dying. Hurriedly Joan knelt be¬ 
side him to lift his head. At her call Cleve brought 
a canteen. But the miner could not drink and he 
died with some word unspoken. 

Dizzily Joan arose, and with Cleve half supporting 
her she backed off the road to a seat on the bank. 
She saw the bandits now at business-like action. 
Blicky and Smith were cutting the horses out of their 
harness; Beady Jones, like a ghoul, searched the 
dead men; the three bandits whom Joan knew 
only by sight were making up a pack; Budd was 
standing beside the stage with his expectant grin; 
and Gulden, with the agility of the gorilla he re¬ 
sembled, was clambering over the top of the stage. 
Suddenly from under the driver’s seat he hauled a 
buckskin sack. It was small, but heavy. He threw 
it down to Budd, almost knocking over that bandit. 
Budd hugged the sack and yelled like an Indian. 
The other men whooped and ran toward him. 
Gulden hauled out another sack. Hands to the 
number of a dozen stretched clutchingly. When he 
threw the sack there was a mad scramble. They 
fought, but it was only play. They were gleeful. 
Blicky secured the prize and he held it aloft in 
triumph. Assuredly he would have waved it had 

327 


THE BORDER LEGION 


it not been so heavy. Gulden drew out several 
small sacks, which he provokingly placed on the seat 
in front of him. The bandits below howled in pro¬ 
test. Then the giant, with his arm under the seat, 
his huge frame bowed, heaved powerfully upon 
something, and his face turned red. He halted in 
his tugging to glare at his bandit comrades below. 
If his great cavernous eyes expressed any feeling it 
was analogous to the reluctance manifest in his 
posture—he regretted the presence of his gang. He 
would rather have been alone. Then with deep- 
muttered curse and mighty heave he lifted out a 
huge buckskin sack, tied and placarded and marked. 

“One hundred pounds /” he boomed. 

It seemed to Joan then that a band of devils sur¬ 
rounded the stage, all roaring at the huge, bristling 
demon above, who glared and bellowed down a them. 

Finally Gulden stilled the tumult, which, after all, 
was one of frenzied joy. 

“Share and share alike!” he thundered, now black 
in the face. “Do you fools want to waste time 
here on the road, dividing up this gold?” 

“What you say goes,” shouted Budd. 

There was no dissenting voice. 

“What a stake!” ejaculated Blicky. “Gul, the 
boss had it figgered. Strange, though, he hasn’t 
showed up!” 

“Where’ll we go?” queried Gulden. “Speak up, 
you men.” 

The unanimous selection was Cabin Gulch. 
Plainly Gulden did not like this, but he was just. 

“All right. Cabin Gulch it is. But nobody out¬ 
side of Kells and us gets a share in this stake.” 

328 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Many willing hands made short work of prepara¬ 
tion, Gulden insisted on packing all the gold upon 
his saddle, and had his will. He seemed obsessed; 
he never glanced at Joan. It was Jesse Smith who 
gave the directions and orders. One of the stage- 
horses was packed. Another, with a blanket for a 
saddle, was given Cleve to ride. Blicky gallantly 
gave his horse to Joan, shortened his stirrups to 
fit her, and then whistled at the ridgy back of 
the stage-horse he elected to ride. Gulden was 
in a hurry, and twice he edged off, to be halted 
by impatient calls. Finally the cavalcade was 
ready. Jesse Smith gazed around upon the scene 
with the air of a general overlooking a vanquished 
enemy. 

‘‘Whoever fust runs acrost this job will have blind 
staggers, don’t you forgit thet!” 

“What’s Kells goin’ to figger?” asked Blicky, 
sharply. 

“Nothin’ fer Kells! He wasn’t in at the finish!” 
declared Budd. 

Blicky gazed darkly at him, but made no comment. 

“I tell you, Blick, I can’t git this all right in my 
head,” said Smith. 

“Say, ask Jim again. Mebbe, now the job’s done, 
he can talk,” suggested Blicky. 

Jim Cleve heard and appeared ready for that 
question. 

“I don’t know much more than I told you. But I 
can guess. Kells had this big shipment of gold 
spotted. He must have sent us in the stage for 
some reason. He said he’d tell me what to expect 
and do. But he didn’t come back. Sure he knew 
3 2 9 


THE BORDER LEGION 


you’d do the job. And just as sure he expected to 
be on hand. He’ll turn up soon.” 

This ruse of Jim’s did not sound in the least 
logical or plausible to Joan, but it was readily ac¬ 
cepted by the bandits. Apparently what they 
knew of Kells’s movements and plans since the 
break-up at Alder Creek fitted well with Cleve’s 
suggestions. 

“Come on!” boomed Gulden, from the fore. 
“Do you want to rot here?” 

Then without so much as a backward glance at the 
ruin they left behind the bandits fell into line. 
Jesse Smith led straight off the road into a shallow 
brook and evidently meant to keep in it. Gulden 
followed; next came Beady Jones; then the three 
bandits with the pack-horse and the other horses; 
Cleve and Joan, close together, filed in here; and 
last came Budd and Blicky. It was rough, slippery 
traveling and the riders spread out. Cleve, how¬ 
ever, rode beside Joan. Once, at an opportune 
moment, he leaned toward her. 

“We’d better run for it at the first chance,” he 
said, somberly. 

“No!. . . Gulden /” Joan had to moisten her lips 
to speak the monster’s name. 

“He’ll never think of you while he has all that 
gold.” 

Joan’s intelligence grasped this, but her morbid 
dread, terribly augmented now, amounted almost to 
a spell. Still, despite the darkness of her mind, she 
had a flash of inspiration and of spirit. 

“Kells is my only hope! ... If he doesn’t join us 
soon—then we’ll rim! ... And if we can’t escape 
33o 


THE BORDER LEGION 

that”—Joan made a sickening gesture toward the 
fore— 4 ‘you must kill me before—before—” 

Her voice trailed off, failing. 

“I will!” he promised through locked teeth. 

And then they rode on, with dark faces bent over 
the muddy water and treacherous stones. 

When Jesse Smith led out of that brook it was 
to ride upon bare rock. He was not leaving any 
trail. Horses and riders were of no consideration. 
And he was a genius for picking hard ground and 
covering it. He never slackened his gait, and it 
seemed next to impossible to keep him in sight. 

For Joan the ride became toil and the toil became 
pain. But there was no rest. Smith kept merci¬ 
lessly onward. Sunset and twilight and night found 
the cavalcade still moving. Then it halted just as 
Joan was about to succumb. Jim lifted her off her 
horse and laid her upon the grass. She begged for 
water, and she drank and drank. But she wanted no 
food. There was a heavy, dull beating in her ears, 
a band tight round her forehead. She was aware of 
the gloom, of the crackling of fires, of leaping shad¬ 
ows, of the passing of men to and fro near her, and, 
most of all, rendering her capable of a saving shred 
of self-control, she was aware of Jim’s constant com¬ 
panionship and watchfulness. Then sounds grew 
far off and night became a blur. 

Morning when it came seemed an age removed 
from that hideous night. Her head had cleared, 
and but for the soreness of body and limb she would 
have begun the day strong. There appeared little 
to eat and no time to prepare it. Gulden was 

27 331 


THE BORDER LEGION 


rampant for action. Like a miser he guarded the 
saddle packed with gold. This time his comrades 
were as eager as he to be on the move. All were 
obsessed by the presence of gold. Only one hour 
loomed in their consciousness—that of the hour of 
division. How fatal and pitiful and terrible! Of 
what possible use or good was gold to them? 

The ride began before sunrise. It started and 
kept on at a steady trot. Smith led down out of the 
rocky slopes and fastnesses into green valleys. Jim 
Cleve, riding bareback on a lame horse, had his 
difficulties. Still he kept close beside or behind Joan 
all the way. They seldom spoke, and then only a 
word relative to this stern business of traveling in 
the trail of a hard-riding bandit. Joan bore up 
better this day, as far as her mind was concerned. 
Physically she had all she could do to stay in the 
saddle. She learned of what steel she was actually 
made—what her slender frame could endure. That 
day’s ride seemed a thousand miles long, and never 
to end. Yet the implacable Smith did finally halt, 
and that before dark. 

Camp was made near water. The bandits were a 
jovial lot, despite a lack of food. They talked of the 
morrow. All—the world—lay beyond the next sun¬ 
rise. Some renounced their pipes and sought their 
rest just to hurry on the day. But Gulden, tireless, 
sleepless, eternally vigilant, guarded the saddle of 
gold and brooded over it, and seemed a somber 
giant carved out of the night. And Blicky, nursing 
some deep and late-developed scheme, perhaps in 
Kells’s interest or his own, kept watch over Gulden 
and all 


332 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Jim cautioned Joan to rest, and importuned her 
and promised to watch while she slept. 

Joan saw the stars through her shut eyelids. All 
the night seemed to press down and softly darken. 

The sun was shining red when the cavalcade rode 
up Cabin Gulch. The grazing cattle stopped to 
watch and the horses pranced and whistled. There 
were flowers and flitting birds, and glistening dew on 
leaves, and a shining swift flow of water—the bright¬ 
ness of morning and nature smiled in Cabin Gulch. 

Well indeed Joan remembered the trail she had 
ridden so often. How that clump of willow where 
first she had confronted Jim thrilled her now! The 
pines seemed welcoming her. The gulch had a 
sense of home in it for her, yet it was fearful. How 
much had happened there! What might yet hap¬ 
pen! 

Then a clear, ringing call stirred her pulse. She 
glanced up the slope. Tall and straight and dark, 
there on the bench, with hand aloft, stood the 
bandit Kells. 


CHAPTER XIX 


T HE weary, dusty cavalcade halted on the level 
bench before the bandit’s cabin. Gulden 
boomed a salute to Kells. The other men shouted 
greeting. In the wild exultation of triumph they 
still held him as chief. But Kells was not deceived. 
He even passed by that heavily laden, gold-weighted 
saddle. He had eyes only for Joan. 

“Girl, I never was so glad to see any one!” he 
exclaimed in husky amaze. “How did it happen? 
I never—” 

Jim Cleve leaned over to interrupt Kells. “It 
was great, Kells—that idea of yours putting us in 
the stage-coach you meant to hold up,” said Cleve, 
with a swift, meaning glance. “But it nearly was 
the end of us. You didn’t catch up. The gang 
didn’t know we were inside, and they shot the old 
stage full of holes.” 

“Aha! So that’s it,” replied Kells, slowly. “But 
the main point is—you brought her through. Jim, 
I can’t ever square that.” 

“Oh, maybe you can,” laughed Cleve, as he dis¬ 
mounted. 

Suddenly Kells became aware of Joan’s exhaustion 
and distress. “Joan, you’re not hurt?” he asked in 
swift anxiety. 


334 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“No, only played out.” 

“You look it. Come.” He lifted her out of the 
saddle and, half carrying, half leading her, took 
her into the cabin, and through the big room to 
her old apartment. How familiar it seemed to 
Joan! A ground-squirrel frisked along a chink 
between the logs, chattering welcome. The place 
was exactly as Joan had left it. 

Kells held Joan a second, as if he meant to em¬ 
brace her, but he did not. “Lord, it’s good to see 
you! I never expected to again. . . . But you can 
tell me all about yourself after you rest. ... I was 
just having breakfast. I’ll fetch you some.” 

“Were you alone here?” asked Joan. 

“Yes. I was with Bate and Handy—” 

“Hey, Kells!” roared the gang, from the outer 
room. 

Kells held aside the blanket curtain so that Joan 
eyas able to see through the door. The men were 
drawn up in a half-circle round the table, upon 
which were the bags of gold. 

Kells whistled low. “Joan, there’ll be trouble 
now,” he said, “but don’t you fear. I’ll not forget 
you.” 

Despite his undoubted sincerity Joan felt a subtle 
change in him, and that, coupled with the significance 
of his words, brought a return of the strange dread. 
Kells went out and dropped the curtain behind him. 
Joan listened. 

“Share and share alike!” boomed the giant 
Gulden. 

“Say!” called Kells, gaily, “aren’t you fellows 
going to eat first?” 


335 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Shouts of derision greeted his sally. 

'Til eat gold-dust,” added Budd. 

'‘Have it your own way, men,” responded Kells, 
*Blicky, get the scales down off of that shelf. . . * 
Say, I’ll bet anybody I’ll have the most dust by 
sundown.” 

More shouts of derision were flung at him. 

“Who wants to gamble now?” 

“Boss, I’ll take thet bet.” 

“Haw! Haw! You won’t look so bright by sun¬ 
down.” 

Then followed a moment’s silence, presently 
broken by a clink of metal on the table. 

“Boss, how’d you ever git wind of this big ship¬ 
ment of gold?” asked Jesse Smith. 

“I’ve had it spotted. But Handy Oliver was the 
scout.” 

“We’ll shore drink to Handy!” exclaimed one of 
the bandits. 

“An’ who was sendin’ out this shipment?” queried 
the curious Smith. ‘ ‘ Them bags are marked all the 
same.” 

“It was a one-man shipment,” replied Kells, 
“Sent out by the boss miner of Alder Creek. They 
call him Overland something.” 

That name brought Joan to her feet with a thrilling 
fire. Her uncle, old Bill Hoadley, was called “Over¬ 
land.” Was it possible that the bandits meant him? 
It could hardly be; that name was a common one 
in the mountains. 

“Shore, I seen Overland lots of times,” said Budd : 
“An’ he got wise to my watchin’ him.” 

“Somebody tipped it off that the Legion wa§ 
336 


THE BORDER LEGION 


after his gold,” went on Kells. “I suppose we have 
Pearce to thank for that. But it worked out well 
for us. The hell we raised there at the lynching 
must have thrown a. scare into Overland. He had 
nerve enough to try to send his dust to Bannack 
on the very next stage. He nearly got away with 
it, too. For it was only lucky accident that Handy 
heard the news.” 

The name Overland drew Joan like a magnet and 
she arose to take her old position, where she could 
peep in upon the bandits. One glance at Jim Cleve 
told her that he, too, had been excited by the name. 
Then it occurred to Joan that her uncle could 
hardly have been at Alder Creek without Jim know¬ 
ing it. Still, among thousands of men, all wild and 
toiling and self-sufficient, hiding their identities, any¬ 
thing might be possible. After a- few moments, how¬ 
ever, Joan leaned to the improbability of the man 
being her uncle. 

Kells sat down before the table and Blicky stood 
beside him with the gold-scales. The other bandits 
lined up opposite. Jim Cleve stood to one side, 
watching, brooding. 

“You can’t weigh it all on these scales,” said 
Blicky. 

“That’s sure,” replied Kells. “Well divide the 
small bags first. . . . Ten shares—ten equal parts! . . . 
Spill out the bags, Blick. And hurry. Look how 
hungry Gulden looks! . . . Somebody cook your 
breakfast while we divide the gold.” 

“Haw! Haw!” 

“Ho! Ho!” 

“Who wants to eat?” 


337 


THE BORDER LEGION 


The bandits were gay, derisive, scornful, eager, 
like a group of boys, half surly, half playful, at a 
game. 

“Wal, I shore want to see my share weighed / 9 
drawled Budd. 

Kells moved—his gun flashed—he slammed it 
hard upon the table. 

'‘Budd, do you question my honesty?” he asked* 
quick and hard. 

“No offense, boss. I was just talkin'.” 

That quick change of Kells’s marked a subtle dif¬ 
ference in the spirit of the bandits and the occa¬ 
sion. Gaiety and good humor and badinage ended. 
There were no more broad grins or friendly leers or 
coarse laughs. Gulden and his group clustered closer 
to the table, quiet, intense, watchful, suspicious. 

It did not take Kells and his assistant long to 
divide the smaller quantity of the gold. 

“Here, Gulden,” he said, and handed the giant a 
bag. “Jesse. . . . Bossert. . . . Pike. . . . Beady. . . 0 
Braverman. . . . Blicky.” 

“Here, Jim Cleve, get in the game,” he added, 
throwing a bag at Jim. It was heavy. It hit Jim 
with a thud and dropped to the ground. He stooped 
to reach it. 

“That leaves one for Handy and one for me/* 
went on Kells. “Blicky, spill out the big bag.” 

Presently Joan saw a huge mound of dull, gleam¬ 
ing yellow. The color of it leaped to the glinting 
eyes of the bandits. And it seemed to her that a 
shadow hovered over them. The movements of Kells 
grew tense and hurried. Beads of sweat stood out 
upon his brow. His hands were not steady. 

338 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Soon larger bags were distributed to the bandits 0 
That broke the waiting, the watchfulness, but not 
the tense eagerness. The bandits were now like 
leashed hounds. Blicky leaned before Kells and hit 
the table with his fist. 

“Boss, I’ve a kick cornin’,” he said. 

“Come on with it,” replied the leader. 

“Ain’t Gulden agoin’ to divide up thet big 
nugget?” 

“He is if he’s square.” 

A chorus of affirmatives from the bandits strength¬ 
ened Kells’s statement. Gulden moved heavily and 
ponderously, and he pushed some of his comrades 
aside to get nearer to Kells. 

“Wasn’t it my right to do a job by myself—when I 
wanted?” he demanded. 

“No. I agreed to let you fight when you wanted. 
To kill a man when you liked! . . . That was the 
agreement.” 

“What’d I kill a man for?” 

No one answered that in words, but the answer 
was there, in dark faces. 

“I know what I meant,” continued Gulden« 
“And I’m going to keep this nugget.” 

There was a moment’s silence. It boded ill to the 
giant. 

“So—he declares himself,” said Blicky, hotly. 
“Boss, what you say goes.” 

“Let him keep it,” declared Kells, scornfully. 
“I’ll win it from him and divide it with the gang.” 

That was received with hoarse acclaims by all 
except Gulden. He glared sullenly. Kells stood up 
and shook a long finger in the giant’s face. 

339 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“I’ll win your nugget,” he shouted. “I’ll beat 
you at any game. ... I call your hand. ... Now if 
you’ve got any nerve!” 

“Come on /” boomed the giant, and he threw his 
gold down upon the table with a crash. 

The bandits closed in around the table with sud¬ 
den, hard violence, all crowding for seats. 

“I’m a-goin’ to set in the game!” yelled Blicky. 

“We’ll all set in,” declared Jesse Smith. 

“Come on!” was Gulden’s acquiescence. 

“But we all can’t play at once,” protested Kells 0 
“Let’s make up two games.” 

“Naw!” 

“Some of you eat, then, while the others get 
cleaned out.” 

“Thet’s it—cleaned out!” ejaculated Budd, mean¬ 
ly. “You seem to be sure, Kells. An’ I guess I’ll 
keep shady of thet game.” 

“That’s twice for you, Budd,” flashed the bandit 
leader. “Beware of the third time!” 

“Hyar, fellers, cut the cards fer who sets in an* 
who sets out,” called Blicky, and he slapped a deck 
of cards upon the table. 

With grim eagerness, as if drawing lots against 
fate, the bandits bent over and drew cards. Budd 
Braverman, and Beady Jones were the ones ex¬ 
cluded from the game. 

“Beady, you fellows unpack those horses and turn 
them loose. And bring the stuff inside,” said Kells. 

Budd showed a surly disregard, but the other two 
bandits got up willingly and went out. 

Then the game began, with only Cleve standing, 
looking on. The bandits were mostly silent; they 
340 


THE BORDER LEGION 

moved their hands, and occasionally bent forward. 
It was every man against his neighbor. Gulden 
seemed implacably indifferent and played like a 
machine. Blicky sat eager and excited, under a 
spell. Jesse Smith was a slow, cool, shrewd gambler. 
Bossert and Pike, two ruffians almost unknown to 
Joan, appeared carried away by their opportunity. 
And Kells began to wear that strange, rapt, weak 
expression that gambling gave him. 

Presently Beady Jones and Braverman bustled 
in, carrying the packs. Then Budd jumped up and 
ran to them. He returned to the table, carrying a 
demijohn, which he banged upon the table. 

“Whisky!” exclaimed Kells. “Take that away. 
We can’t drink and gamble.” 

“Watch me!” replied Blicky. 

“Let them drink, Kells,” declared Gulden. “We’ll 
get their dust quicker. Then we can have our 
game.” 

Kells made no more comment. The game went 
on and the aspect of it changed. When Kells him¬ 
self began to drink, seemingly unconscious of the 
fact, Joan’s dread increased greatly, and, leaving the 
peep-hole, she lay back upon the bed. Always a 
sword had hung over her head. Time after time by 
some fortunate circumstance or by courage or wit 
or by an act of Providence she had escaped what 
strangely menaced. Would she escape it again? 
For she felt the catastrophe coming. Did Jim 
recognize that fact? Remembering the look on his 
face, she was assured that he did. Then he would 
be quick to seize upon any possible chance to get her 
away; and always he would be between her and 
341 


THE BORDER LEGION 

those bandits. At most, then, she had only death 
to fear—death that he would mercifully deal to her 
if the worst came. And as she lay there listening 
to the slow-rising murmur of the gamblers, with 
her thought growing clearer, she realized it was 
love of Jim and fear for him—fear that he would lose 
her—that caused her cold dread and the laboring 
breath and the weighted heart. She had cost Jim 
this terrible experience and she wanted to make up 
to him for it, to give him herself and all her life. 

Joan lay there a long time, thinking and suf¬ 
fering, while the strange, morbid desire to watch 
Kells and Gulden grew stronger and stronger, until 
it was irresistible. Her fate, her- life, lay in the 
balance between these two men. She divined that. 

She returned to her vantage-point, and as she 
glanced through she vibrated to a shock. The change 
that had begun subtly, intangibly, was now a terrible 
and glaring difference. That great quantity of gold, 
the equal chance of every gambler, the marvelous 
possibilities presented to evil minds, and the hell 
that hid in that black bottle—these had made play¬ 
things of every bandit except Gulden. He was ex¬ 
actly the same as ever. But to see the others sent 
a chill of ice along Joan’s veins. Kells was white 
and rapt. Plain to see—he had won! Blicky was 
wild with rage. Jesse Smith sat darker, grimmer, but 
no longer cool. There was hate in the glance he 
fastened upon Kells as he bet. Beady Jones and 
Braverman showed an inflamed and impotent 
eagerness to take their turn. Budd sat in the game 
now, and his face wore a terrible look. Joan could 
not tell what passion drove him, but she knew he 
342 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Was a loser. Pike and Bossert likewise were losers* 
and stood apart, sullen, watching with sick, jealous 
rage. Jim Cleve had reacted to the strain, and he 
was white, with nervous, clutching hands and 
piercing glances. And the game went on with vio¬ 
lent slap of card or pound of fist upon the table* 
with the slide of a bag of gold or the little, sodden 
thump of its weight, with savage curses at loss and 
strange, raw exultation at gain, with hurry and 
violence—more than all, with the wildness of the 
hour and the wildness of these men, drawing closer 
and closer to the dread climax that from the be¬ 
ginning had been foreshadowed. 

Suddenly Budd rose and bent over the table, his 
cards clutched in a shaking hand, his face distorted 
and malignant, his eyes burning at Kells. Pas¬ 
sionately he threw the cards down. 

“There!” he yelled, hoarsely, and he stilled the 
noise. 

“No good!” replied Kells, tauntingly. “Is there 
any other game you play?” 

Budd bent low to see the cards in Kells’s hand, 
and then, straightening his form, he gazed with 
haggard fury at the winner. “You’ve done me!. . . 
I’m cleaned—I’m busted!” he raved. 

“You were easy. Get out of the game,” replied 
Kells, with an exultant contempt. It was not the 
passion of play that now obsessed him, but the pas¬ 
sion of success. 

“I said you done me,” burst out Budd, insanely. 
“You’re slick with the cards!” 

The accusation acted like magic to silence the 
bandits, to check movement, to clamp the situation. 

343 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Kells was white and radiant; he seemed careless 
and nonchalant. 

'‘All right, Budd,” he replied, but his tone did not 
suit his strange look. “That’s three times for you!” 

Swift as a flash he shot. Budd fell over Gulden, 
and the giant with one sweep of his arm threw the 
stricken bandit off. Budd fell heavily, and neither 
moved nor spoke. 

“Pass me the bottle,” went on Kells, a little hoarse 
shakiness in his voice. “And go on with the game!” 

“Can I set in now?” asked Beady Jones, eagerly. 

“You and Jack wait. This’s getting to be all 
between Kells an me,” said Gulden. 

“We’ve sure got Blicky done!” exclaimed Kells. 
There was something taunting about the leader’s 
words. He did not care for the gold. It was the 
fight to win. It was his egotism. 

“Make this game faster an’ bigger, will you?” 
retorted Blicky, who seemed inflamed. 

“Boss, a little luck makes you lofty,” interposed 
Jesse Smith in dark disdain. “Pretty soon you’ll 
show yellow clear to your gkzard!” 

The gold lay there on the table. It was only a 
means to an end. It signified nothing. The evil, 
the terrible greed, the brutal lust, were in the hearts 
of the men. And hate, liberated, rampant, stalked 
out unconcealed, ready for blood. 

“Gulden, change the game to suit these gents,” 
taunted Kells. 

“Double stakes. Cut the cards!” boomed the 
giant, instantly. 

Blicky lasted only a few more deals of the cards, 
then he rose, loser of all his share, a passionate and 

344 


THE BORDER LEGION 


venomous bandit, ready for murder. But he kept 
his mouth shut and looked wary, 

“Boss, can't we set in now?” demanded Beady 
Jones. 

“Say, Beady, you're in a hurry to lose your gold,” 
replied Kells. “Wait till I beat Gulden and Smith.” 

Luck turned against Jesse Smith. He lost first 
to Gulden, then to Kells, and presently he rose, a 
beaten, but game man. He reached for the whisky„ 

“Fellers, I reckon I can enjoy Kells’s yellow streak 
more when I ain't playin',” he said. 

The bandit leader eyed Smith with awakening 
rancor, as if a persistent hint of inevitable weakness 
had its effect. He frowned, and the radiance left his 
face for the forbidding cast. 

“Stand around, you men, and see some real 
gambling,” he said. 

At this moment in the contest Kells had twice as 
much gold as Gulden, there being a huge mound of 
little buckskin sacks in front of him. 

They began staking a bag at a time and cutting 
the cards, the higher card winning. Kells won the 
first four cuts. How strangely that radiance re¬ 
turned to his face! Then he lost and won, and won 
and lost. The other bandits grouped around, only 
Jones and Braverman now manifesting any eager¬ 
ness. All were silent. There were suspense, strain, 
mystery in the air. Gulden began to win consist¬ 
ently and Kells began to change. It was a sad 
and strange sight to see this strong man’s nerve 
and force gradually deteriorate under a fickle for¬ 
tune. The time came when half the amount he had 
collected was in front of Gulden. The giant was 
345 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Imperturbable. He might have been a huge animal, 
or destiny, or something inhuman that knew the run 
of luck would be his. As he had taken losses so he 
greeted gains—with absolute indifference. While 
Kells’s hands shook the giant’s were steady and slow 
and sure. It must have been hateful to Kells— 
this faculty of Gulden’s to meet victory indentically 
as he met defeat. The test of a great gambler’s 
nerve was not in sustaining loss, but in remaining 
cool with victory. The fact grew manifest that 
Gulden was a great gambler and Kells was not. 
The giant had no emotion, no imagination. And 
Kells seemed all fire and whirling hope and despair 
and rage. His vanity began to bleed to death. 
This game was the deciding contest. ‘ The scornful 
and exultant looks of his men proved how that game 
was going. Again and again Kells’s unsteady hand 
reached for one of the whisky-bottles. Once with a 
low curse he threw an empty bottle through the door. 

“Hey, boss, ain’t it about time—” began Jesse 
Smith. But whatever he had intended to say, he 
thought better of, withholding it. Kells’s sudden 
look and movement were unmistakable. 

The goddess of chance, as false as the bandit’s 
vanity, played with him. He brightened under a 
streak of winning. But just as his face began to 
lose its haggard shade, to glow, the tide again turned 
against him. He lost and lost, and with each bag 
of gold-dust went something of his spirit. And 
when he was reduced to his original share he indeed 
showed that yellow streak which Jesse Smith had 
attributed to him. The bandit’s effort to pulkhim¬ 
self together, to be a man before that scornful gang, 
346 


THE BORDER LEGION 

was pitiful and futile. He might have been mag¬ 
nificent, confronted by other issues, of peril or cir¬ 
cumstance, but here he was craven. He was a man 
who should never have gambled. 

One after the other, in quick succession, he lost 
the two bags of gold, his original share. He had 
lost utterly. Gulden had. the great heap of dirty 
little buckskin sacks, so significant of the hidden 
power within. 

Joan was amazed and sick at sight of Kells then, 
and if it had been possible she would have with¬ 
drawn her gaze. But she was chained there. The 
catastrophe was imminent. 

Kells stared down at the gold. His jaw worked 
convulsively. He had the eyes of a trapped wolf. 
Yet he seemed not wholly to comprehend what had 
happened to him. 

Gulden rose, slow, heavy, ponderous, to tower 
over his heap of gold. Then this giant, who had 
never shown an emotion, suddenly, terribly blazed. 

“One more bet—a cut of the cards—my whole 
stake of gold!” he boomed. 

The bandits took a stride forward as one man, 
then stood breathless. 

“One bet!” echoed Kells, aghast. “Against 
what?” 

“ Against the girl!” 

Joan sank against the wall, a piercing torture in 
her breast. She clutched the logs to keep from 
falling. So that was the impending horror. She 
could not unrivet her eyes from the paralyzed Kells,, 
yet she seemed to see Jim Cleve leap straight upj, 
and then stand, equally motionless, with Kells. 

24 m 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“One cut of the cards—my gold against the girl!” 
boomed the giant. 

Kells made a movement as if to go for his gun„ 
But it failed. His hand was a shaking leaf. 

“You always bragged on your nerve!” went on 
Gulden, mercilessly. “You’re the gambler of the 
border! . . . Come on.” 

Kells stood there, his doom upon him. Plain to 
all was his torture, his weakness, his defeat. It 
seemed that with all his soul he combated some¬ 
thing, only to fail. 

“ One cut—my gold against your girl! K 

The gang burst into one concerted taunt. Like 
snarling, bristling wolves they craned their necks at 
Kells. 

“No, damn—you! No!” cried Kells, in hoarse, 
broken fury. With both hands before him he seemed 
to push back the sight of that gold, of Gulden, of the 
malignant men, of a horrible temptation. 

“Reckon, boss, thet yellow streak is operatin’!” 
sang out Jesse Smith. 

But neither gold, nor Gulden, nor men, nor taunts 
ruined Kells at this perhaps most critical crisis of 
his life. It was the mad, clutching, terrible op¬ 
portunity presented. It was the strange and terrible 
nature of the wager. What vision might have 
flitted through the gambler’s mind! But neither 
vision of loss nor gain moved him. There, licking like 
a flame at his soul, consuming the good in him at a 
blast, overpowering his love, was the strange and 
magnificent gamble. He could not resist it. 

Speechless, with a motion of his hand, he signified 
his willingness. 


348 


THE BORDER LEGION 


“Blicky, shuffle the cards,” boomed Gulden. 

Blicky did so and dropped the deck with a slap 
in the middle of the table. 

‘‘Cut!” called Gulden. 

Kells’s shaking hand crept toward the deck. 

Jim Cleve suddenly appeared to regain power of 
speech and motion. “Don’t, Kells, don’t!” he cried, 
piercingly, as he leaped forward. 

But neither Kells nor the others heard him, or even 
saw his movement. 

Kells cut the deck. He held up his card. It was 
the king of hearts. What a transformation! His 
face might have been that of a corpse suddenly re¬ 
vivified with glorious, leaping life. 

“Only an ace can beat thet!” muttered Jesse 
Smith into the silence. 

Gulden reached for the deck as if he knew every 
card left was an ace. His cavernous eyes gloated 
over Kells. He cut, and before he looked himself he 
let Kells see the card. 

“You can’t beat my streak!” he boomed. 

Then he threw the card upon the table. It was 
the ace of spades. 

Kells seemed to shrivel, to totter, to sink. Jim 
Cleve went quickly to him, held to him. 

“Kells, go say good-by to your girl!” boomed 
Gulden. “I’ll want her pretty soon. . . . Come on, 
you Beady and Braverman. Here’s your chance to 
get even.” 

Gulden resumed his seat, and the two bandits 
invited to play were eager to comply, while the 
others pressed close once more. 

Tim Cleve led the dazed Kells toward the door into 
349 


THE BORDER LEGION 

Joan’s cabin. For Joan just then all seemed to be 
dark. 

When she recovered she was lying on the bed 
and Jim was bending over her. He looked frantic 
with grief and desperation and fear. 

“Jim! Jim!” she moaned, grasping his hands. He 
helped her to sit up. Then she saw Kells standing 
there. He looked abject, stupid, drunk. Yet evi¬ 
dently he had begun to comprehend the meaning of 
his deed. 

“Kells,” began Cleve, in low, hoarse tones, as he 
stepped forward with a gun. “I’m going to kill 
you—and Joan—and myself!” 

Kells stared at Cleve. “Go ahead. Kill me. 
And kill the girl, too. That 11 be better for her now. 
But why kill yourself?” 

“I love her. She’s my wife!” 

The deadness about Kells suddenly changed.' 
Joan flung herself before him. 

“Kells—listen,” she whispered in swift, broken 
passion. “Jim Cleve was—my sweetheart—back in 
Hoadley. We quarreled. I taunted him. I said 
he hadn’t nerve enough—even to be bad. He left 
me—bitterly enraged. Next day I trailed him. I 
wanted to fetch him back. ... You remember—how 
you met me with Roberts—how you killed Roberts? 
And all the rest?. . . When Jim and I met out here— 
I was afraid to tell you. I tried to influence him. I 
succeeded—till we got to Alder Creek. There he 
went wild. I married him—hoping to steady him. 

. . . Then the day of the lynching—we were separated 
from you in the crowd. That night we hid—and 
next morning took the stage. Gulden and his gang 
3So 


THE BORDER LEGION 


held up the stage. They thought you had put us 
there. We fooled them, but we had to come on— 
here to Cabin Gulch—hoping to tell you—that you'd 
let us go. . . . And now—now—” 

Joan had not strength to go on. The thought of 
Gulden made her faint. 

“It’s true, Kells,” added Cleve, passionately, as he 
faced the incredulous bandit. ‘‘I swear it. Why, 
you ought to see now!” 

‘‘My God, boy, I do see!” gasped Kells. That 
dark, sodden thickness of comprehension and feeling, 
indicative of the hold of drink, passed away swiftly. 
The shock had sobered him. 

Instantly Joan saw it—saw in him the return of 
the other and better Kells, now stricken with re¬ 
morse. She slipped to her knees and clasped her 
arms around him. He tried to break her hold, but 
she held on. 

“Get up!” he ordered, violently. “Jim, pull her 
away! . . . Girl, don’t do that in front of me! . . . 
I’ve just gambled away—” 

“Her life, Kells, only that, I swear,” cried Cleve. 

“Kells, listen,” began Joan, pleadingly. “You 
will not let that—that cannibal have me?” 

“No, by God!” replied Kells, thickly. “I was 
drunk—crazy. . . . Forgive me, girl! You see—how 
did I know—what was coming? . . . Oh, the whole 
thing is hellish!” 

“You loved me once,” whispered Joan, softly. 
“Do you love me still? . . . Kells, can’t you see? 
It’s not too late to save my life—and your soul! . . . 
Can’t you see? You have been bad. But if you 
save me now—from Gulden—save me for this boy 
35* 


THE BORDER LEGION 


I’ve almost mined—you—you . . . God will forgive 
you! . . . Take us away—go with us—and never 
come back to the border.” 

“Maybe I can save you,” he muttered, as if to 
himself. He appeared to want to think, but to be 
bothered by the clinging arms around him. Joan 
felt a ripple go over his body and he seemed to 
heighten, and the touch of his hands thrilled. 

Then, white and appealing, Cleve added his 
importunity. 

“ Kells, I saved your life once. You said you’d 
remember it some day. Now—now! . . . For God’s 
sake don’t make me shoot her!” 

Joan rose from her knees, but she still clasped 
Kells. She seemed to feel the mounting of his 
spirit, to understand how in this moment he was 
rising out of the depths. How strangely glad she 
was for him! 

“Joan, once you showed me what the love of a good 
woman really was. I’ve never been the same since 
then. I’ve grown better in one way—worse in all 
the others. ... I let down. I was no man for the 
border. Always that haunted me. Believe me, 
won’t you—despite all?” 

Joan felt the yearning in him for what he dared 
not ask. She read his mind. She knew he meant, 
somehow, to atone for his wrong. 

“I’ll show you again,” she whispered. “I’ll tell 
you more. If I’d never loved Jim Cleve—if I’d 
met you, I’d have loved you. . . . And, bandit 
or not, I’d have gone with you to the end of the 
world!” 

“Joan!” The name was almost a sob of joy and 
352 


THE BORDER LEGION 


pain. Sight of his face then blinded Joan with her 
tears. But when he caught her to him, in a violence 
that was a terrible renunciation, she gave her em¬ 
brace, her arms, her lips without the vestige of a 
lie, with all of womanliness and sweetness and love 
and passion. He let her go and turned away, and in 
that instant Joan had a final divination that this 
strange man could rise once to heights as supreme 
as the depths of his soul were dark. She dashed 
away her tears and wiped the dimness from her eyes. 
Hope resurged. Something strong and sweet gave 
her strength. 

When Kells wheeled he was the Kells of her earlier 
experience—cool, easy, deadly, with the smile almost 
ymiable, and the strange, pale eyes. Only the white 
radiance of him was different. He did not look at 
her. 

“Jim, will you do exactly what I tell you?” 

“Yes, I promise,” replied Jim. 

“How many guns have you?” 

“Two.” 

“Give me one of them.” 

Cleve held out the gun that all the while he had 
kept in his hand. Kells took it and put it in his 
pocket. 

“Pull your other gun—be ready,” said he, swiftly. 
“But don’t you shoot once till I go down! . . . Then 
do your best. . . . Save the last bullet for Joan—in 
case—” 

“I promise,” replied Cleve, steadily. 

Then Kells drew a knife from a sheath at his belt. 
It had a long, bright blade. Joan had seen him use 
it many a time round the camp-fire. He slipped the 
353 


THE BORDER LEGION 


blade up his sleeve, retaining the haft of the knife 
in his hand. He did not speak another word. Nor 
did he glance at Joan again. She had felt his gaze 
while she had embraced him, as she raised her lips. 
That look had been his last. Then he went out. 
Jim knelt beside the door, peering between post and 
curtain. 

Joan staggered to the chink between the logs. She 
would see that fight if it froze her blood—the very 
marrow of her bones. 

The gamblers were intent upon their game. Not 
a dark face looked up as Kells sauntered toward the 
table. Gulden sat with his back to the door. There 
was a shaft of sunlight streaming in, and Kells 
blocked it, sending a shadow over the bent heads 
of the gamesters. How significant that shadow— 
a blackness barring gold! Still no one paid any 
attention to Kells. 

He stepped closer. Suddenly he leaped into 
swift and terrible violence. Then with a lunge he 
drove the knife into Gulden’s burly neck. 

Up heaved the giant, his mighty force overturning 
table and benches and men. An aw T ful boom, 
strangely distorted and split, burst from him. 

Then Kells blocked the door with a gun in each 
hand, but only the one in his right hand spurted 
white and red. Instantly there followed a mad 
scramble—hoarse yells, over which that awful roar 
of Gulden’s predominated—and the bang of guns. 
Clouds of white smoke veiled the scene, and with 
every shot the veil grew denser. Red flashes burst 
from the ground where men were down, and from 
each side of Kells. His form seemed less instinct 
354 


THE BORDER LEGION 

with force; it had shortened; he was sagging. But 
at intervals the red spurt and report of his gun 
showed he was fighting. Then a volley from one 
side made him stagger against the door. The clear 
spang of a Winchester spoke above the heavy boom 
of the guns. 

Joan’s eyesight recovered from its blur or else 
the haze of smoke drifted, for she saw better. 
Gulden’s actions fascinated her, horrified her. He 
had evidently gone crazy. He groped about the 
room, through the smoke, to and fro before the 
fighting, yelling bandits, grasping with huge hands 
for something. His sense of direction, his equilib¬ 
rium, had become affected. His awful roar still 
sounded above the din, but it was weakening. His 
giant’s strength was weakening. His legs bent and 
buckled under him. All at once he whipped out his 
two big guns and began to fire as he staggered—at 
fandom. He killed the wounded Blicky. In the 
melee he ran against Jesse Smith and thrust both 
guns at him. Jesse saw the peril and with a shriek 
he fired point-blank at Gulden. Then as Gulden 
pulled triggers both men fell. But Gulden rose, 
bloody-browed, bawling, still a terrible engine of 
destruction. He seemed to glare in one direction 
and shoot in another. He pointed the guns and 
apparently pulled the triggers long after the shots 
had all been fired. 

Kells was on his knees now with only one gun. 
This wavered and fell, wavered and fell. His left 
arm hung broken. But his face flashed white 
through the thin, drifting clouds of smoke. 

Besides Gulden the bandit Pike was the only one 
355 


THE BORDER LEGION 


not down, and he was hard hit. When he shot his 
last he threw the gun away, and, drawing a knife, 
he made at Kells. Kells shot once more, and hit 
Pike, but did not stop him. Silence, after the shots 
and yells, seemed weird, and the groping giant, trying 
to follow Pike, resembled a huge phantom. With 
one wrench he tore off a leg of the overturned 
table and brandished that. He swayed now, and 
there was a whistle where before there had been 
a roar. 

Pike fell over the body of Blicky and got up 
again. The bandit leader staggered to his feet, 
flung the useless gun in Pike’s face, and closed with 
him in weak but final combat. They lurched and 
careened to and fro, with the giant Gulden swaying 
after them. Thus they struggled until Pike moved 
under Gulden’s swinging club. The impetus of the 
blow carried Gulden off his balance. Kells seized 
the haft of the knife still protruding from the giant’s 
neck, and he pulled upon it with all his might. 
Gulden heaved up again, and the movement en¬ 
abled Kells to pull out the knife. A bursting gush of 
blood, thick and heavy, went flooding before the 
giant as he fell. 

Kells dropped the knife, and, tottering, surveyed 
the scene before him—the gasping Gulden, and all 
the quiet forms. Then he made a few halting steps, 
and dropped near the door. 

Joan tried to rush out, but what with the un¬ 
steadiness of her limbs and Jim holding her as 
he went out, too, she seemed long in getting to 
Kells* 


356 


THE BORDER LEGION 

She knelt beside him, lifted his head. His face 
was white—his eyes were open. But they were only 
the windows of a retreating soul. He did not know 
her. Consciousness was gone. Then swiftly life 
fled. 


CHAPTER XX 


C LEVE steadied Joan in her saddle, and stood a 
moment beside her, holding her hands. The 
darkness seemed clearing before her eyes and the 
sick pain within her seemed numbing out. 

“Brace up! Hang to your saddle!” Jim was say¬ 
ing, earnestly. “Any moment some of the other 
bandits might come. . . . You lead the way. I’ll 
follow and drive the pack-horse.” 

“But, Jim, I’ll never be able to find the back- 
trail,” said Joan. 

“I think you will. You’ll remember every yard 
of the trail on which you were brought in here. 
You won’t realize that till you see.” 

Joan started and did not look back. Cabin Gulch 
was like a place in a dream. It was a relief when 
she rode out into the broad valley. The grazing 
horses lifted their heads to whistle. Joan saw the 
clumps of bushes and the flowers, the waving grass, 
but never as she had seen them before. How 
strange that she knew exactly which way to turn, 
to head, to cross! She trotted her horse so fast that 
Jim called to say he could not drive a pack-animal 
and keep to her gait. Every rod of the trail lessened 
a burden. Behind was something hideous and in¬ 
comprehensible and terrible; before beckoned some- 
358 


THE BORDER LEGION 


thing beginning to seem bright. And it was not 
the ruddy, calm sunset, flooding the hills with color. 
That something called from beyond the hills. 

She led straight to a camp site she remembered 
long before she came to it; and the charred logs of 
the fire, the rocks, the tree under which she had 
lain—all brought back the emotions she had felt 
there. She grew afraid of the twilight, and when 
night settled down there were phantoms stalking 
in the shadows. When Cleve, in his hurried camp 
duties, went out of her sight, she wanted to cry out 
to him, but had not the voice; and when he was 
close still she trembled and was cold. He wrapped 
blankets round her and held her in his arms, yet 
the numb chill and the dark clamp of mind remained 
with her. Long she lay awake. The stars were 
pitiless. When she shut her eyes the blackness 
seemed unendurable. She slept, to wake out of 
nightmare, and she dared sleep no more. At last 
the day came. 

For Joan that faint trail seemed a broad road, 
blazoned through the wild canons and up the rocky 
fastness and through the thick brakes. She led on 
and on and up and down, never at fault, with familiar 
landmarks near and far. Cleve hung close to her, 
and now his call to her or to the pack-horse took on 
a keener note. Every rough and wild mile behind 
them meant so much. They did not halt at the 
noon hour. They did not halt at the next camp site, 
still more darkly memorable to Joan. And sunset 
found them miles farther on, down on the divide, 
at the head of Lost Canon. 

Here Joan ate and drank, and slept the deep sleep 
359 


THE BORDER LEGION 

of exhaustion. Sunrise found them moving, and 
through the winding, wild canon they made fast 
travel. Both time and miles passed swiftly. At 
noon they reached the little open cabin, and they 
dismounted for a rest and a drink at the spring. 
Joan did not speak a word here. That she could 
look into the cabin where she had almost killed a 
bandit, and then, through silent, lonely weeks, had 
nursed him back to life, was a proof that the long 
ride and distance were helping her, sloughing away 
the dark deadlock to hope and brightness. They 
left the place exactly as they had found it, except 
that Cleve plucked the card from the bark of the 
balsam-tree—Gulden’s ace-of-hearts target with its 
bullet-holes. 

Then they rode on, out of that canon, over the 
rocky ridge, down into another canon, on and on, 
past an old camp-site, along a babbling brook for 
miles, and so at last out into the foot-hills. 

Toward noon of the next day, when approaching 
a clump of low trees in a flat valley, Joan pointed 
ahead. 

“Jim—it was in there—where Roberts and I 
camped—and—’ ’ 

“You ride around. I’ll catch up with you,” re¬ 
plied Cleve. 

She made a wide detour, to come back again to 
her own trail, so different here. Presently Cleve 
joined her. His face was pale and sweaty, and he 
looked sick. They rode on silently, and that night 
they camped without water on her own trail, made 
months before. The single tracks were there, 
360 


THE BORDER LEGION 

sharp and clear in the earth, as if imprinted but a 
day. 

Next morning Joan found that as the wild border 
lay behind her so did the dark and hateful shadow 
of gloom. Only the pain remained, and it had 
softened. She could think now. 

Jim Cleve cheered up. Perhaps it was her 
brightening to which he responded. They began 
to talk and speech liberated feeling. Miles of that 
back-trail they rode side by side, holding hands, 
driving the pack-horse ahead, and beginning to talk 
of old associations. Again it was sunset when 
'they rode down the hill toward the little village 
of Hoadley. Joan’s heart was full, but Jim was 
gay. 

“Won’t I have it on your old fellows!” he teased. 
But he was grim, too. 

“Jim! You—won’t tell—just yet!” she faltered. 

“I’ll introduce you as my wife! They’ll all think 
we eloped.” 

“No. They’ll say I ran after you! . . . Please, 
Jim! Keep it secret a little. It ’ll be hard for me. 
Aunt Jane will never understand.” 

“Well, I’ll keep it secret till you want to tell— 
for two things,” he said. 

“What?” 

“Meet me to-night under the spruces where we 
had that quarrel. Meet just like we did then, but 
differently. Will you?” 

“I’ll be—so glad.” 

“And put on your mask now! ... You know, 
Joan, sooner or later your story will be on every¬ 
body’s tongue. You’ll be Dandy Dale as long as you 
361 


THE BORDER LEGION 


live near this border. Wear the mask, just for fun 0 
Imagine your aunt Jane—and everybody!” 

“Jim! I’d forgotten how I look!” exclaimed Joan 
in dismay. “I didn’t bring your long coat. Oh, 
t can’t face them in this suit!” 

“You’ll have to. Besides, you look great. It’s 
going to tickle me—the sensation you make. Don’t 
you see, they’ll never recognize you till you take the 
mask off. . . . Please, Joan.” 

She yielded, and donned the black mask, not with¬ 
out a twinge. And thus they rode across the log 
bridge over the creek into the village. The few 
men and women they met stared in wonder, and, 
recognizing Cleve, they grew excited. They fol¬ 
lowed, and others joined them. 

“Joan, won’t it be strange if Uncle Bill really is 
the Overland of Alder Creek? We’ve packed out 
every pound of Overland’s gold. Oh! I hope—I 
believe he’s your uncle. . . . Wouldn’t it be great,' 
Joan?” 

But Joan could not answer. The word gold was 
a stab. Besides, she saw Aunt Jane and two 
neighbors standing before a log cabin, beginning 
to show signs of interest in the approaching pro¬ 
cession. 

Joan fell back a little, trying to screen herself be¬ 
hind Jim. Then Jim halted with a cheery salute. 

“For the land’s sake!” ejaculated a sweet-faced, 
gray-haired woman. 

“If it isn’t Jim Cleve!” cried another. 

Jim jumped off and hugged the first speaker. She 
seemed overjoyed to see him and then overcome., 
Her face began to work. 

362 


THE BORDER LEGION 

“Jim! We always hoped you’d—you’d fetch 
Joan back!” 

“Sure!” shouted Jim, who had no heart now for 
even an instant’s deception. “There she is!” 

“Who? . . . What?” 

Joan slipped out of her saddle and, tearing off 
the mask, she leaped forward with a little sob. 

“Auntie! Auntie! . . . It’s Joan—alive—well!. . . 
Oh, so glad to be home! . . . Don’t look at my 
clothes—look at me!” 

Aunt Jane evidently sustained a shock of recogni¬ 
tion, joy, amaze, consternation, and shame, of which 
all were subservient to the joy. She cried over 
Joan and murmured over her. Then, suddenly alive 
to the curious crowd, she put Joan from her. 

“You—you wild thing! You desperado! I al¬ 
ways told Bill you’d run wild some day!. . . March in 
the house and get out of that indecent rig!” 

That night under the spruces, with the starlight 
piercing the lacy shadows, Joan waited for Jim 
Cleve. It was one of the white, silent, mountain 
nights. The brook murmured over the stones and 
the wind rustled the branches. 

The wonder of Joan’s home-coming was in learn¬ 
ing that Uncle Bill Hoadley was indeed Overland, 
the discoverer of Alder Creek. Years and years of 
profitless toil had at last been rewarded in this 
rich gold strike. 

Joan hated to think of gold. She had wanted 
to leave the gold back in Cabin Gulch, and she 
would have done so had Jim permitted it. And 
to think that all that gold which was not Jim 
363 


THE BORDER LEGION 


Cleve’s belonged to her uncle! She could not 
believe it. 

Fatal and terrible forever to Joan would be the 
significance of gold. Did any woman in the world 
or any man know the meaning of gold as well as she 
knew it? How strange and enlightening and terrible 
had been her experience! She had grown now not to 
blame any man, honest miner or bloody bandit. 
She blamed only gold. She doubted its value. She 
could not see it a blessing. She absolutely knew its 
driving power to change the souls of men. Could 
she ever forget that vast ant-hill of toiling diggers 
and washers, blind and deaf and dumb to all save 
gold? 

Always limned in figures of fire against the black 
memory would be the forms of those wild and 
violent bandits! Gulden, the monster, the gorilla, 
the cannibal! Horrible as was the memory of him, 
there was no horror in thought of his terrible death ? 
That seemed to be the one memory that did not 
hurt. 

But Kells was indestructible—he lived in her 
mind. Safe out of the border now and at home, she 
could look back clearly. Still all was not clear and 
never would be. She saw Kells the ruthless bandit, 
the organizer, the planner, and the blood-spiller. 
He ought have no place in a good woman’s memory. 
Yet he had. She never condoned one of his deeds or 
even his intentions. She knew her intelligence was 
not broad enough to grasp the vastness of his guilt 
She believed he must have been the worst and most 
terrible character on that wild border. That bor¬ 
der had developed him. It had produced the time 
364 


THE BORDER LEGION 


and the place and the man. And therein lay the 
mystery. For over against this bandit’s weakness 
and evil she could contrast strength and nobility. 
She alone had known the real man in all the strange 
phases of his nature, and the darkness of his crime 
faded out of her mind. She suffered remorse— 
almost regret. Yet what could she have done? 
There had been no help for that impossible situation, 
as there was now no help for her in a right and just 
placing of Kells among men. He had stolen her— 
wantonly murdering for the sake of lonely, fruitless 
hours with her; he had loved her—and he had 
changed; he had gambled away her soul and life— 
a last and terrible proof of the evil power of gold; 
and in the end he had saved her—he had gone from 
her white, radiant, cool, with his strange, pale eyes 
and his amiable, mocking smile, and all the ruthless 
force of his life had expended itself in one last 
magnificent stand. If only he had known her at 
the end—when she lifted his head! But no—there 
had been only the fading light—the strange, weird 
look of a retreating soul, already alone forever. 

A rustling of leaves, a step thrilled Joan out of her 
meditation. 

Suddenly she was seized from behind, and Jim 
Cleve showed that though he might be a joyous and 
grateful lover, he certainly would never be an actor. 
For if he desired to live over again that fatal meeting 
and quarrel which had sent them out to the border, 
he failed utterly in his part. There was possession 
in the gentle grasp of his arms and bliss in the trem¬ 
bling of his lips. 


THE BORDER LEGION 


4 ‘Jim, you never did it that way!" laughed Joan, 
4 ‘If you had—do you think I could ever have been 
furious?” 

Jim in turn laughed happily. “Joan, that's 
exactly the way I stole upon you and mauled you!” 

“You think so? Well, I happen to remember. 
Now you sit here and make believe you are Joan. 
And let me be Jim Cleve! . . . I’ll show you!” 

Joan stole away in the darkness, and noiselessly as 
a shadow she stole back—to enact that violent 
scene as it lived in her memory. 

Jim was breathless, speechless, choked. 

“That’s how you treated me,” she said. 

“I—I don’t believe I could have—been such a—a 
bear!” panted Jim. 

“But you were, And consider—I’ve not half your 
strength!” 

“Then all I say is—you did right to drive me off. 
. . . Only you should never have trailed me out to 
the border.” 

“Ah! . . . But, Jim, in my fury I discovered my 
love!” 


THE END 


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THE FAMOUS TARZAN BOOKS 


Tarzan of the Apes 

The Return of Tarzan 

The Beasts of Tarzan 

The Son of Tarzan 

Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar 

Jungle Tales of Tarzan 

Tarzan the Untamed 


Tarzan the Terrible 
Tarzan and the Golden Lion 
Tarzan and the Ant Men 
Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle 
Tarzan and the Lost Empire 
Tarzan at the Earth’s Core 


OTHER STORIES OF ADVENTURE 

The Bandit of Hell’s Bend 
The Land that Time Forgot 
The Mucker 
At the Earth’s Core 
Pellucidar 
Tanar of Pellucidar 

THE MARVELOUS MARTIAN STORIES 

The Princess of Mars Thuvia, Maid of Mars 

The Gods of Mars The Chessmen of Mars 

The Warlord of Mars The Master Mind of Mars 

A Fighting Man of Mars 


The Monster Men 
The War Chief 
The Outlaw of Torn 
The Mad King 
The Moon Maid 
The Eternal Lover 
The Cave Girl 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers , NEW YORK 















JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD’S 

STORIES OF ADVENTURE 


May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 


FALKNER OF THE INLAND SEAS 

SON OF THE FORESTS 

GREEN TIMBER 

THE LADY OF PERIBONKA 

THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM 

SWIFT LIGHTNING 

THE BLACK HUNTER 

THE ANCIENT HIGHWAY 

A GENTLEMAN OF COURAGE 

THE ALASKAN 

THE COUNTRY BEYOND 

THE FLAMING FOREST 

THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN 

THE RIVER’S END 

THE GOLDEN SNARE 

BACK TO GOD’S COUNTRY 

THE WOLF HUNTERS 

THE GOLD HUNTERS 

NOMADS OF THE NORTH 

KAZAN 

THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM 

BAREE, THE SON OF KAZAN 

THE DANGER TRAIL 

THE COURAGE OF MARGE O’DOONE 

THE HUNTED WOMAN 

THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH 

THE GRIZZLY KING 

ISOBEL 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers NEW YORK 

















B. M. BOWER’S NOVELS 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 

TIGER EYE 
FOOL'S GOAL 

THE SWALLOWFORK BULLS 

HAYWIRE 

WHITE WOLVES 

BLACK THUNDER 

THE VOICE AT JOHNNYWATER 

CHIP OF THE FLYING U 

FLYING U RANCH 

FLYING U’s LAST STAND 

THE LONESOME TRAIL 

THE RANGE DWELLERS 

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers , NEW YORK 





























NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE 

WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list 


BEYOND THE RIO GRANDE 
RUTLEDGE TRAILS THE ACE OF SPADES 
THE VALIANT 

THE FIGHTING TENDERFOOT 

TEXAS MAN 

COLORADO 

JUDGE COLT 

THE FIGHTING EDGE 

GUNSIGHT PASS 

TANGLED TRAILS 

MAN SIZE 

THE BIG TOWN ROUND-UP 
OH, YOU TEX! 

THE SHERIFF’S SON 
A MAN FOUR SQUARE 
A TEXAS RANGER 
BRAND BLOTTERS 
BUCKY O’CONNOR 
MAVERICKS 
BONANZA 

RIDGEWAY OF MONTANA 
WYOMING 

A DAUGHTER OF THE DONS 

THE HIGHGRADER 

THE DESERT’S PRICE 

IRONHEART 

ROADS OF DOUBT 

TROUBLED WATERS 

CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK 













J. S. FLETCHER’S DETECTIVE 
STORIES 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list 


J. S. Fletcher’s mystery-detective stories of the puzzle 
variety have made him the generally acknowledged suc¬ 
cessor to Conan Doyle in this field. 

BEHIND THE MONOCLE 
THE TIME WORN TOWN 
THE MATHESON FORMULA 
THE YORKSHIRE MOORLAND MURDER 
THE BORGIA CABINET 
THE ORANGE-YELLOW DIAMOND 
THE MARKENMORE MYSTERY 
THE MAZAROFF MYSTERY 
DEAD MEN’S MONEY 
THE PARADISE MYSTERY 
THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM 
THE BOROUGH TREASURER 
THE CHESTERMARKE INSTINCT 
THE LOST MR. LINTHWAITE 
THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB 
FALSE SCENT 
THE AMARANTH CLUB 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK 

















PETER B. KYNE’S NOVELS 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 


Mr. Kyne is a globe-trotter and all the seven seas and 
the islands therein are likely in the future to contribute 
color for the vivid stories of action and romance which 
come so readily to his teeming fancy. And these will be 
welcomed by the legion of readers who look to him for 
entertainment in an all ’round good story. 

OUTLAWS OF EDEN 

GOLDEN DAWN 

JIM THE CONQUEROR 

THE PARSON OF PANAMINT 

TIDE OF EMPIRE 

THE THUNDER GOD 

THEY ALSO SERVE 

THE UNDERSTANDING HEART 

MONEY TO BURN 

THE ENCHANTED HILL 

NEVER THE TWAIN SHALL MEET 

THE PRIDE OF PALOMAR 

CAPPY RICKS 

CAPPY RICKS RETIRES 

KINDRED OF THE DUST 

THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS L 

WEBSTER: MAN'S MAN 

CAPTAIN SCRAGGS 

THE LONG CHANCE 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK 












JACKSON GREGORY’S NOVELS 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s List. 


THE SILVER STAR 

A wayward son. implicated in several murders, assumes the silver star of 
the sheriff’s office. 

THE TRAIL TO PARADISE 

Romance, quick shooting adventure, and one of the weirdest of mysteries 
are in this thorough-going western story. 

MYSTERY AT SPANISH HACIENDA 

The story of Rapidan, who thought it fun to buy his cat in a sack, and 
who came upon adventures thick and fast. 

SENTINEL OF THE DESERT 

A fascinating story of mystery, adventure and love in the dangerous 
days of the old Southwest. 

EMERALD TRAILS 

Hard riding, reckless adventure—a story based upon the smuggling 
of jewels from the Orient through the redwoods of California. 

CAPTAIN CAVALIER 

A romance of Old California in the days of the Spanish Aristocracy. 

A DESERT THOROUGHBRED 

The thrilling adventures of Camilla Darrel across the Mexican border. 

THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN 

A thrilling story about a lovely girl who flees to the mountains to 
avoid an obnoxious suitor—and finds herself suspected of murder. 

THE EVERLASTING WHISPER 

Tells of a strong man’s struggle against savage nature and of a 
girl’s regeneration from a spoiled child of wealth into a courageous, 
strong-willed woman. 

MAN TO MAN 

How Steve won his game and the girl he loved is a story filled with 
breathless situations. 

THE BELLS OF SAN JUAN 

Dr. Virginia Page is forced ta go with the sheriff on a night 
journey into the strongholds of a lawless! band. 

JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH 

Judith Sanford, part owner of a cattle ranch, realizes that she is 
being robbed by her foreman. With the help of Bud Lee she check¬ 
mates Trevor’s scheme. 

WOLF BREED 

No Luck Brennan, a woman hater, finds a match in Ygerne, whose 
clever fencing wins the admiration and love or the Lone Wolf._ 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK 


I 















NOVELS BY TEMPLE BAILEY 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s List. 


WILD WIND 

A girl's sacrifice for the children of her sister is the keynote 
of the heart-stirring love story. 

BURNING BEAUTY . 

Beautiful Virginia Oliphant is loved by two men; one tempts 
her with millions, and the other tempts her with nothing more 
than his devotion. 

SILVER SLIPPERS 

Days of delight and disillusionment until Joan Dudley's knight 
actually came. 

WALL FLOWERS 

They were twins, they were "Wall Flowers” perhaps—but they 
were beautiful, and young and real . 

THE BLUE WINDOW i 

Hildegarde finds herself transplanted from the middle western 
farm to the gay social whirl of the East. 

PEACOCK FEATHERS 

Jerry, the idealist, loves Mimi, a beautiful spoiled society girl. 
A conflict of wealth and love. 

THE DIM LANTERN 

The romance of little Jane Barnes who is loved by two men. 

THE GAY COCKADE * 

Unusual short stories in which Miss Bailey shows her knowl¬ 
edge of character and her skill in romance tales. 

TRUMPETER SWAN 

Randy Paine came back from France to the monotony of 
everyday affairs. But a girl showed him the beauty in the com¬ 
monplace. 

THE TIN SOLDIER 

Derry wishes to serve his country but is bound by a tie he 
cannot in honor break. Jean loves him and shares his humiliation 
to help him win. 

MISTRESS ANNE 

Into the life of Anne came two men; one is weak and the 
other strong and they both need Anne. 

CONTRARY MARY 

An old fashioned love story that has a very modern application. 

GLORY OF YOUTH 

An old question yet ever new—how far should an engagement 
of marriage bind two persons who find they no longer love ? 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers , NEW YORK 












MARGARET PEDLER’S NOVELS 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 


KINDLED FLAME 

Jealousy is the thorn of love, so young Jane found when she came back from 
a holiday to pacify her devoted fiance. 

FIRE OF YOUTH 

Phyllis had to make her choice between Terry, who was young and 
penniless, and Timothy, who was wealthy, attractive and middle-aged. 

THE GUARDED HALO 

The story of a girl and a man who threw away' honor and reputation 
to protect untarnished the memory of a friend. 

BITTER HERITAGE 

She learned that her father, the man she had idolized, was a thief 
and a swindler—a bitter heritage not to be escaped. 

YESTERDAY’S HARVEST 

The harvest of an early love brings a strange situation and triumph 
of sacrifice. 

TOMORROW’S TANGLE 

The game of love is fraught with danger. Ta win in the finest sense 
it must be played fairly. 

RED ASHES 

A gripping story of a doctor who failed in a crucial operation and 
had only himself to blame. Could the woman he loved forgive him ? 

THE BARBARIAN LOVER 

A love story based upon the creed that the only important things 
between birth and death are the courage to face life and the love 
to sweeten it. 

THE MOON OUT OF REACH 

Nan Davenport’s problem is one that many a girl has faced—her 
own happiness or her father’s bond. 

THE HOUSE OF DREAMS COME TRUE 

How a man and a woman fulfilled a gypsy’s prophecy. 

THE HERMIT OF FAR END *C 

How love made its way into a walled-in house and a walled-in heart. 

THE LAMP OF FATE 

The story of a woman who tried to take all and give nothing. 

THE SPLENDID FOLLY 

Dd you believe that husbands and wives should have no secrets 
from each other? 

THE VISION OF DESIRE 

It is easy to destroy illusions, difficult to restore them. Anne re¬ 
stored love from the ashes of disillusion. 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK 
















U iGf. 


^ 4V 


EMILIE LORING’S-NOVELS 

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. 


" Refreshing ”—is the word that best describes Mrs. 
Loring’s delightful romances. There is always a fascinat¬ 
ing plot twist and her characters are the kind of high- 
spirited people you’d like to meet in real life. 

LIGHTED WINDOWS 

The romance of a young engineer and a beautiful society girl, 
with the wilds of Alaska as a setting for their dramatic story. 

SWIFT WATER 

The story of a high-spirited, impetuous girl who fell in love 
with a man much against her will. • 

GAY COURAGE 

Geoffrey Hilliard returns home after many years of aimless drift¬ 
ing to find himself in adventures far beyond his expectations. 

A CERTAIN CROSSROAD 

When Judith and Neil met at a certain crossroad neither sus¬ 
pected the thrilling events in store for them. 

HERE COMES THE SUN 

Julie Lorraine was not in love but on a quixotic impulse she 
married Jim Trafiford to protect him from ruin by his enemies. 

THE SOLITARY HORSEMAN 

Few suspected the secret that was locked in the heart of the 
solitary horseman as he gazed out over the valley. 

THE TRAIL OF CONFLICT 

Stephen marries Geraldine to save his father from financial ruin. 
These young people struggle to find a way to happiness. 


GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK 
























































































































































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